Teacher of Justice
by Marie Grantaire
Summary: In which Grantaire and Feuilly make a bet, and the author attempts an unlikely pairing. Eponine/Feuilly. Please review.
1. The Bet

I don't own the characters. Any of them. I'm just borrowing a little of Victor Hugo's brilliance. This is my first attempt at a fic with Eponine or Feuilly as main characters…I just wondered what she could be if someone took her under their wing and made an attempt with her. Hmmm. Comments are much appreciated!

Eponine looked warily around her as she hurried down the streets of Paris, toward the Café Musain. It was late, and dangerous for her to be out, but she had a mission. She had heard a rumor on the streets that the ABC Friends would be celebrating something tonight, and when students celebrated, it meant large amounts of drinking. Perhaps she could catch monsieur Marius when he was intoxicated, and wring a confession of love from him. Or at least get a kiss.

She stopped outside the door, and raked her fingers through her lank black hair, trying to bring it into some semblance of order, and stuffed her hat in the pocket of her coat. What else could she do to make herself prettier? She bit her lips to make them rosy. The night was chilly; her cheeks would already be flushed.

Standing on her toes, she tried to peer in the windows, looking for Marius. She thought she got a glimpse of him. Taking a deep breath, Eponine pushed the café door open and entered the mess of noise and heat. She spotted Marius in the corner, and began to make her way over.

Suddenly, a looming figure appeared in front of her.

"What are you doing in here, gamin?" the tall man asked, glaring at her. She gulped. It was the one who was always drunk, the horribly ugly one.

"I…I'm 'ere to see monsieur Marius," she replied, standing up straighter. His look became one of disgust, and he grabbed her roughly by the arm.

"Get out of here, you," he growled, escorting her toward the door.

"Grantaire! Let her be." a soft voice came from the corner, and the big brute turned. Eponine wrenched her arm out of his grasp and tried to see where the voice was coming from. A smaller, dark-haired man had stood and was coming toward them.

"Why should I leave her alone? She doesn't belong here," Grantaire snapped.

"She's doing no one harm," the smaller one replied calmly. Eponine watched him, eyes wide. Why was this stranger sticking up for her? She wasn't used to such kindness; a plan to sneak in the back had already begun forming in her mind. She'd never had a thought that anyone would help her.

"She smells. And she's only here to beg."

"I am not!" Eponine cried out indignantly, "I'm 'ere to see monsieur Marius. I told you that. And I don't smell!"

The dark-haired man chuckled and held out his hand.

"What's your name, my girl?" he asked kindly.

"Eponine," she said, eyeing his hand warily.

"It is a pleasure to meet you, mademoiselle Eponine. I am called Feuilly. Now, what is your business with Marius? Surely you're not here to discuss politics."

"I…no. I donno much about politics. I jus'…wanted to see 'im, that's all," she stammered.

"She's in love with him," Grantaire spat, glowering at her, "a gutter snipe in love with a rich man. Only cares about his money. Dear god, you little beast! You'll truly be in the gutter all your life!"

Eponine was so shocked, she took a few steps back, her lip quivering. She felt as if she had been slapped. What had she done to this man to make him hate her so?

"Grantaire!" Feuilly looked shocked as well. He looked at the girl, who was acting like she didn't know whether to bust into tears or just bolt.

"He doesn't mean it, Eponine. He's just frustrated. You forget that I started life out as an orphan and a beggar, Grantaire."

"But you've made something of yourself. Enjolras has the utmost respect for you."

"I had the luck to discover my skill at painting. Perhaps Eponine has a skill that will take her to greatness," Feuilly said, smiling encouragingly at the girl. She cracked a small smile.

"Doubtful," Grantaire snorted, "And even if she does, how will she discover it? Especially if she takes all her time being heartsick over Pontmercy?"

"Perhaps she needs a little help."

"Oh, stop it! Don't get her hopes up. She can stay, I don't care. Let her harass Pontmercy. Just keep her away from me," Grantaire threw up his hands in frustration and returned to his pint. Eponine threw Feuilly a grateful smile and rushed off to find Marius.

"What the hell are you thinking?" Grantaire growled at Feuilly, who was thoughtfully stroking his chin as he stared after Eponine.

"Well," Feuilly replied, taking his seat and smiling a little, "I've been thinking that I could use an assistant to help with my painting. To wash brushes, you know, and find new customers. Perhaps I could take Eponine on and she could make a little money. She would meet people too, and perhaps someone would take her on as a maid or a governess."

"Are you serious?" Grantaire laughed bitterly and took a swig of ale.

"Yes. I think she can truly make something of herself."

"Always the teacher of justice, Feuilly. But you won't make a damn thing out of that one."

"We'll see, Grantaire," Feuilly said.

"Tell you what," Grantaire said, now more amused than annoyed, "We'll make a bet. Five francs says that you'll never make anything of the gamin. And I'll quit drinking for a month too!"

"You're on," Feuilly replied, standing and scanning the room for Eponine. He spotted her in the corner, languishing over Marius, and strode away, leaving Grantaire to shake his head in disbelief and order another pint.


	2. Higher Stakes

**Note: **_Please please please_ leave a review. Even if you didn't particularly like the story, at least give some advice on how I can make it better. When I see all the people who read but don't review, I get frustrated and don't want to write anymore!

For those of you who do review, thank you sooo much! Much appreciated!

Also, I'm not completely happy with this chapter, so any ideas would be great.

**E.T.** – Thanks so much for the feedback…I've changed Enjolras to Grantaire like you suggested. I loved the idea – I was unhappy with Enjolras in that role. I don't know why I didn't think of changing it to Grantaire hits self in forehead. Thanks!

_Teacher of Justice – Chapter 2_

Eponine was sitting on the floor at Marius' feet, looking at him as if he were God. Feuilly paused to watch the spectacle and get a look at what he was getting himself into. The girl wasn't, in so many words, pretty, but she had a strange charm about her. He wondered what she would look like as a proper lady, or even someone of the middle class in which he barely existed.

She would need a dress that covered more than just her most intimate parts, he decided first. And the boy's hat and men's boots would be replaced with clean hair and proper shoes for a lady…what kind of shoes did girls wear? He'd have to figure that out.

Feuilly winced a little as Eponine wiped her runny nose on the hem of her skirt when Marius wasn't looking. Some manners, definitely. But he was sure that the girl would be a quick learner. Something in her eyes told him that.

Marius got up and dropped some money into Eponine's lap, and left looking annoyed. Feuilly didn't miss Grantaire's grin from the corner. He sighed & approached Eponine.

"Mademoiselle Eponine, I have a proposition for you," he said. Her eyes grew wide, and she began backing up.

"Oh n-no. You might think I'm like one o' them girls down by the docks, but 'm not," she said, talking very fast.

"Girls by the docks?" Feuilly was puzzled. The docks were a place for sailors. Serving girls, perhaps? Surely there was no shame in being a serving girl.

"Just 'cause I can't 'ford clothes to cover me doesn't mean 'm one o' _them._ Y'know," Eponine continued, "the _whores_."

"Oh!" Feuilly turned bright red, "I would never…no, that's not what I was going to ask you," he spluttered. Eponine still looked suspicious.

"Then what could a rich student want from a poor girl like me?" she asked.

"I've come to offer you an apprenticeship," he said, regaining his composure, "I paint fans on the street, and I'm in need of an assistant."

"I don't know anything 'bout painting," Eponine said uneasily, twisting the ends of her hair. This student made her nervous.

"You don't have to! You'd be cleaning brushes, and helping me find new customers and such," he said.

"And will I be paid for m' services?" Eponine asked. She'd once heard her father say that, and thought it sounded delightfully businesslike.

"Of course. I can't say exactly how much, you know. It depends on the amount of customers. But I can tell you that you'll make at least 3 francs a day."

"I could make more stealin'. I won't be able to make me father's quota," she said, becoming disinterested and looking a bit fearful.

"But …"

Eponine was shaking her head.

"M' father would kill me. 'E'd throw me into the streets," she said.

"But, Eponine! This would get you out of thieving for life! You could have pretty things to wear, and good things to eat!" Feuilly stared at her in amazement. He couldn't believe that this girl was turning down such an opportunity. Eponine hesitated.

"I've never 'ad any of those things. I guess I can live without 'em well 'nough," she said.

"A husband?" he faltered. She smiled at him sadly.

" 'avent you figured out by now that the only 'usband I want is monsieur Marius?" Eponine asked, looking pained. She turned and began to walk away. Feuilly grasped her shoulder, making a desperate last attempt.

"I bet Marius would notice you if you were a fancy lady in a pretty dress."

She froze, and slowly turned around to meet his eyes.

"Do you think so?" she asked in a whisper. Feuilly nodded. Eponine stepped forward.

"It's a deal," she said, offering her small, filthy hand. Feuilly grasped it and shook it once.

"It's a deal."


	3. A Fountain

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Feuilly scanned the room. He was tired, and had a long day ahead of him tomorrow. Eponine had gone, after promising to meet him the next day. She was probably wandering the streets, looking for Pontmercy.

"_So,_" someone said loudly in his hear, slinging a heavy arm over his shoulder. Feuilly didn't need to turn his head to see who it was; there was a strong reek of liquor on his breath. He sighed and turned toward Grantaire.

"What is it?"

"You don't scheem happy, F'ully," the Winecask slurred, a crooked grin twisting his mouth. Feuilly reined in a strong urge to drop him on the floor, instead setting him rather roughly into a chair.

"I'm fine. Just exhausted. It's been a long day," Feuilly said quietly.

"You're gonna be even more exshausted after trying to make shomethin' out of that Ep'nine girl," Grantaire chortled.

"We'll see about that," Feuilly retorted, turning on his heel. He bid brief goodbyes to _les amis_, and took his leave of the café.

"What did you do to Feuilly, Grantaire?" Combeferre asked, watching his friend leave briskly, "He seemed to be quite vexed."

"We made a bet!" Grantaire slurred happily, slurping down the last of the ale in his mug.

"A bet? Are you addicted to gambling as well as drink now?" Enjolras said angrily, giving the Winecask a dark look.

"No! I schwear! I jus' figured I couldn't lose this one!"

"What are the stakes?" Courfeyrac inquired. A huge grin split Grantaire's face,

"He wantsh to turn that Ep'nine girl whosh in love with the Bonapartist into a lady!" For a minute, Grantaire was so overcome with mirth that he nearly fell from his chair onto the floor.

"At least he's trying to do some good in this world," Enjolras said accusingly.

"Have you seen that girl, Enjolras?" Combeferre inquired, frowning, "I think she may be hopeless."

"There is always hope."

"Not for her!" Grantaire chortled merrily. He then proceeded to slump over the table and begin snoring. Shaking their heads and thinking that little good would come of this, _les amis_ departed the café in favor of home and warm beds.

Feuilly made his way home slowly, trying to organize his spinning thoughts into some semblance of order. Eponine would begin her apprenticeship by cleaning brushes, his tired mind decided. That would keep her behind the scenes until her speech improved and…well, until she got clothes that covered her. Also, he would be able to make sure she was bathed and presentable. She had been told to wash herself before showing up the next day, but he wasn't too sure of her ability to follow direction.

He sighed as he unlocked the door to his small apartment. He was helping a girl who desperately needed it. Working with Eponine would be rewarding, he told himself as he trudged tiredly to his bedroom to undress. As soon as his head hit the pillow, Feuilly was asleep.

He woke early the next morning, and went through his usual routine; dressing, reading a bit, breakfast, then preparing his supplies. He was out on the square by nine, setting up his easel and paint pots. Eponine was to meet him at ten.

A little before eleven, she came dashing into the square. People stared as she skidded to a stop, looked around, and then took off toward Feuilly, lank hair streaming behind her.

"I-I'm so sorry monsieur," she gasped.

"Tardiness will not be tolerated, mademoiselle Eponine," Feuilly said crisply, "and you haven't bathed yourself like I asked you to."

"I meant to, you see. I just…well, me father was in a 'orrible mood this morning, an' 'e made me clean all the rooms. Mama was sick, and 'e wasn't about to clean 'em 'imself –"

"All right. Don't let it happen again," he said sternly, trying to conceal his sympathy. He truly felt for her, but she would have to learn, "And next time, _wash up._ You're not going to bring customers in by being filthy."

"Oh! I'll go an' find a place to wash right now! I'll 'urry, I promise!" Eponine didn't wait for permission, but darted off. Feuilly watched her, but didn't realize where she was going until it was too late. She was heading straight toward the big fountain in the middle of the square. He groaned as she proceeded to strip off her big men's boots, hike up her skirts, and hop right in. Passerby stopped to gawk at the skinny girl who splashed water on her legs and arms, then stepped out of the fountain and washed her face, completely oblivious to anyone. She picked up the boots and trotted back to her employer.

"Am I better now?" she asked, standing up as straight as possible and grinning proudly at Feuilly. He couldn't answer, but managed to nod. People were going back to their shopping now, although a few still watched the crazy girl to see what she would do next.

Feuilly managed to compose himself as a finely dressed woman approached them.

"_Bonjour_, monsieur," she said, "my dear friend told me that you paint beautifully, and I should like to commission a fan for my daughter's sixteenth birthday."

"Of course, mademoiselle," he said politely, "What design do you have in mind?"

The woman launched into a detailed description of a painting called _Admiration,_ in which four beautiful, pale women were flanking a mother and her angelic child.

"It's the future I want for my dear Fleur," she said adoringly, "she'll be such a good wife and mother, and bear lovely children!" Feuilly nodded. Rich mothers often thought such of their daughters. It was grimly satisfying to know that they didn't always get their wish.

Eponine must have been standing behind him staring, for the woman said sharply,

"What _are_ you gaping at, girl?"

"I…nothing," Eponine stammered, "It jus' sounds beautiful, that's all. I'm sorry." This seemed to mollify the woman, and perhaps even flatter her, and she began her lecture on the painting again.

Feuilly felt a stab of pity in his heart, and a new conviction to help this little beggar girl become a lady. Perhaps, after he had done his work with her, he would have a talk with Pontmercy. This little beggar girl deserved to be happy, and he would do anything in his power to help her become so.

_Admiration _is a painting done byWilliam Adolphe Bouguereau. I don't own it. If I did…I'd be rich.


	4. Eyes and Souls

**Thanks for the reviews! **

**So this **_**is**_** a romance, but I'm trying not to make it terribly fluffy. So if it gets too much so, let me know. Also let me know if I'm moving the storyline too fast. I'm trying to keep it plausible. Thanks!**

A few weeks passed, and Eponine proved to be a smart girl who rarely had to be told anything twice. After the first day, she was never late again, and always came with a clean face, though Feuilly hadn't had the heart to scold her for bathing in the fountain.

Eponine had thought when she made this bargain that she would quickly grow bored of hanging around a painter on a street corner. But she soon found that watching Feuilly paint was fascinating. She would listen to the rich Mademoiselles and Monsieurs describe what they wanted, and the pair made a game of her guessing to see what he would paint first.

"The eyes," Eponine guessed once, at the commission of a portrait. Feuilly grinned.

"How did you know that?"

"You always paint the eyes first. An' you usually spend the most time on 'em," she replied with a coy smile.

"Do you know why that is?" he asked. She pursed her lips in thought and bit a fingernail in concentration. Suddenly, her face lit up and she smiled brightly. If you didn't look at her teeth, the effect was actually quite pretty.

"You always say that the eyes are the windows to the soul!" Eponine said triumphantly.

"It's true," Feuilly replied, turning to his fan and dipping a brush in blue paint. The person sitting for the portrait really had grayish eyes, but she had insisted that they were blue. Eponine squatted on the cobblestones and watched with her usual fascination, taking and rinsing his brushes as quickly as he used them.

He gave her the money she had earned that day, and began packing his things. She lingered, looking unusually thoughtful. He found a penny on the stones and tossed to her.

"Penny for your thoughts, 'Ponine?" he asked. She looked confused.

"It's an expression," Feuilly explained, "but you can keep the penny. I was just wondering what's on your mind. You usually just scurry off when we're finished."

"Oh…I usually go and look for Monsieur Marius, but 'e's out of town for a day or so. I was thinking two things."

"Do tell," he said, finding that he was quite interested to see what she had to say.

"Well," Eponine said thoughtfully, twisting a lock of hair, "the first is that I've saved 'nough money to buy a dress. A proper one, like a lady would wear. So I can start 'elping you find more customers. I've been workin' late to make me father's quota, see. So I can keep all the money I earn proper, workin' with you. An' me second thought is…I was thinkin' about what you always say about eyes."

"That they're the windows to the soul?"

"Yes. An'…I was wonderin' what people see in mine," she explained, "If they see more than just a dirty beggar girl who wants to steal their money."

"That's an interesting question. I can't give you the thoughts of others, but would you like to know what I see?" Feuilly asked, packing away the last of his things. Eponine looked at him, and nodded. He looked into her big brown eyes, although he had done it many times before.

"I see a girl who is intelligent, and shouldn't have to steal for a living. One who deserves a life of luxury with the man she loves, not a life of fear and pain at the hands of her father." She was looking back into his eyes now, their gazes locked. He continued,

"I see a girl with endless potential, who could be anything she wanted if she tried a little. I see sadness and pain, but I also see hope. Hope that someday she can become the woman that she deserves to be. And I see a girl who I want to help become that woman."

"A woman who is married to the man she loves?" Eponine asked, brightening visibly, "You will really help me convince Monsieur Marius to fall in love with me? I know I can do it!"

"Of course," Feuilly replied shortly, not sure why the turn in conversation suddenly annoyed him. Eponine bounced on her heels.

"I'm going to get a fine dress for meself tomorrow! Green, I think," she rambled excitedly, "yes, green is my favorite color. I'll have to hide it from me father, though," she mused, almost to herself. Feuilly sighed and slung the heavy bag of his painting supplies over his shoulder.

"I look forward to seeing your new garment tomorrow, Eponine," he said, a little coldly. He turned and set off toward home briskly, leaving the smitten girl to bask in the excitement of the prospect of a new gown.


	5. The Poem

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Eponine was waiting for Feuilly the next morning, beaming. She seemed completely oblivious to the coldness he had shown her last night, and was so excited about her new gown that he couldn't be cross with her. He had worried that he should go with her, so that she wouldn't waste all her money on something terribly fancy, but the dress she wore was simple and pretty.

It was a medium shade of green, with a high empire waist and long sleeves. There were no fancy laces or decorations, but that seemed to suit her. Eponine had even spent wisely enough that she had been able to get a small, ladylike pair of shoes that didn't quite match the dress, but were close.

"Isn't it pretty?" she asked happily, twirling around to show him the only decoration; a bow that tied in back. Feuilly nodded, very satisfied with her taste.

"I'll make a lady out of you yet, Eponine," he said, smiling. She had even made an attempt to pin up her hair, although she hadn't done it very well. Strands escaped the pins and fell down around her face, and she was constantly brushing it out of her eyes.

"I couldn't find 'nough pins," she explained, trying to catch too much hair in one and failing. It fell right back into her eye, and she pursed her lips in frustration.

"I can't get the 'airstyle right 'neither," she pouted, stomping her delicate slipper onto the cobblestones with such force that Feuilly feared she had made a hole in it.

"Well, maybe one of our clients will be kind enough to tell you how to do it better," he suggested, "Or you can at least get a closer look at the way they do it. But don't gape at them."

"You don't hafta scold me," Eponine said, looking a bit wounded, "I only did that once."

"Oh…I'm sorry, Eponine. I'm tired today. I've got a headache and I didn't sleep well last night."

"Why not?" she inquired bluntly. Feuilly shook his head,

"I'm not sure. I had these odd dreams. I was chasing something…but I didn't know what," he sighed and shrugged. Eponine was fiddling with her hair again, and seemed disinterested.

"I wish I could've gotten a more ladylike one," she mused, "but the old bat in the fine shop wouldn't let me in."

"Wouldn't let you in?"

"Said that a beggar girl like me 'ad no place in a fine shop for ladies. I told her I was a lady, jus' as fine as any underneath, but she put me out."

"Well, I think your dress is fine," Feuilly said firmly, "and it's perfect for your position right now."

Eponine seemed to accept this, and gave up on attempting to make her hair stay up. It wasn't as if she would run into Monsieur Maris while she was working anyway. She began forming a plan in her head for when she would reveal her new self to him.

She would buy a new, finer dress, and shoes with heels, and perhaps even go to a salon and pay them to put her hair up fashionably. And she would go to his house. Perhaps he wouldn't even recognize her. How exciting! To think that he would bow over her hand, and kiss it. And then, perhaps he would kiss her! Oh, how wonderful! She had never been kissed before, but she was sure she knew how it felt.

Perhaps it was Feuilly's sour mood, or Eponine's self-absorption, or the lack of customers, but the day seemed to go by ever so slowly. Searching for a way to pass the time, Feuilly fished a small book out of his bag. It was _Lyrical Ballads,_ a book of poetry by Wordsworth and Coleridge.

"Do you know how to read, 'Ponine?" he asked, using for the first time that day the familiar nickname. She shrugged.

"A little."

"Read to me."

"If you promise not to make fun. I 'aven't read in a long while."

"I promise," he said, hiding his smile, "pick one that sounds good."

Eponine looked down the list and threw him an impish smile.

"I've got one. It's about what you're 'elping me to be. It's called _Perfect Woman_. Maybe it will 'elp me know how to do my hair up."

"Perhaps," Feuilly said dryly, "let's hear it."

"_She was a p…antom…"_

"Phantom," he corrected, "_ph_ together makes an _f_ sound."

"Oh…_a phantom of delight_

_When first she glea…m'd upon my sight;_

_A lovely app…app…"_

"Apparition."

"_Apparition, sent_

_To be a moment's or..na..ment._ Ornament, is that right?"

"Yes. You're doing well. Keep going."

"_Her eyes as stars of twi…twilight fair;_

_Like twilight's, too, her dusky hair;_

_But all things else about her drawn_

_From May-time and the cheerful dawn;_

_A dancing shape, an image gay,_

_To haunt, to startle, and waylay,_" Eponine read that far, and suddenly closed the book, frowning, and jumped up from her seat. Feuilly looked at her, startled. Her voice was less than melodious, but it was lulling him into a sort of sleepy peace that he had begun to enjoy.

"That poem is stupid," Eponine declared, tossing the book into Feuilly's lap.

"What? Why?"

She shook her head and crossed her arms, looking as if she were about to burst into tears. Feuilly was completely bewildered. Eponine was young, he knew, but she had never before acted so childish.

"Eponine," he began, trying to make his voice soothing, "come and sit back down, and tell me why you're so upset."

Her lip quivered and she shook her head again. Feuilly was shocked to see that her eyes were full of tears now. What could be causing this? The girl had him absolutely bewildered. He tried a third time, patting the chair next to him.

"Please?"

She plopped down on the chair, being very unladylike, and pulled her knees up to her chest, hugging them and rocking back and forth. Suddenly, she burst out.

"That stupid poem sounds like _her._ Pretty and given ev'rything she could ever want."

"Who?"

"_Cosette_," Eponine spit the name as if it was the foulest of tastes on her tongue. Feuilly was still completely lost. He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose against an oncoming headache.

"Who's Cosette?"

"That evil, mean girl that Monsieur Marius is in love with," Eponine said, a tear trickling down her cheek. She swiped at it with her sleeve.

A sudden anger stirred in Feuilly's breast. Anger at Eponine for being in love with Marius, anger at Marius for treating her so shabbily, and annoyance at himself because he didn't know why these events made him so angry. Eponine was talking again.

"And she's 'ad _everything_ 'er whole life. A rich father who dotes upon her, an' doesn't beat her when she doesn't make 'is quota. It's not me fault I've had an 'ard life! An' it's not me fault I'm ugly! Oh, it's not fair!"

"Oh, 'Ponine," Feuilly sighed, patting her on the back. His anger had dissipated, and he simply felt sorrow for this girl who was so lost and alone.

"I-I'm sorry," she dashed away the last few tears with her sleeve, "I never cry. It won' happen again, I promise." Eponine was ashamed of herself now. She had been on the streets almost all of her life, and had never broken down like this before, in front of anyone. But then again, she had never really had a friend before.

"It's all right," Feuilly said gently, "don't be ashamed. How about we call it quits early and go for a walk in the park?"

"Oh, I don't know. If Monsieur Marius saw me, he might think…"

"You said he was out of town just yesterday," Feuilly said, a bit sharply. He caught himself. Why was he so touchy about Pontmercy? Because Enjolras had so little respect for him, Feuilly decided. Because he was a Bonapartist. Having convinced himself of this, Feuilly gathered his things.

"Just let me drop these off at my apartment, and we'll go for a walk. All right?"

"All right," Eponine nodded and managed a little smile. Feuilly returned it and offered his arm. She took it a little awkwardly, and he had to move her hand from his wrist to his elbow, but the pair was soon on their way.

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	6. A Fight

**Yay reviews! The past few weeks have been rather hellish…and hearing from you makes me smile. Also, another chapter is in the works, but I had to split them up because they were getting too long!**

Eponine was very quiet as they walked along, her eyes darting about, taking in the other couples walking in the crisp autumn air. Her eyes were bright and her cheeks were rosy from the tears she had shed back in the square. The effect added to the sadness in her big brown eyes, and really made her quite lovely.

They strolled by a group of young gentlemen who were lounging on benches, debating on a philosophy lecture they had recently heard. Feuilly knew a few of them, and nodded cordially as he passed, not missing the eyes following his companion. She was oblivious, lost somewhere inside herself.

They reached the edge of the park and came upon a stone footbridge across the Seine. There was a bench midway, and Eponine paused to sit on it. Feuilly stood behind her.

"What's the matter with you today, 'Ponine?" he asked. She shrugged her shoulders and shoved a stray lock of hair back into place with such force that she scraped her forehead with her fingernail. A drop of blood appeared there, and Feuilly quickly took out a handkerchief, blotting it gently. Eponine seemed to not notice, staring out into the river, resting her chin on her hand.

Feuilly watched as her angry face smoothed into a gentler expression, and then a soft smile. Feuilly was confused as to why her mood had changed so quickly, but didn't want to disturb her. The light began fading, and the sunset made her hair seem a richer shade of auburn.

She was so still, she looked like a painting. Feuilly wished that he had brought his supplies so that he could capture this moment of bliss.

"What do you see?" he asked finally. She came slowly out of her reverie, and pointed.

"Do you see them?" she asked. When he strained his eyes, Feuilly could see a young couple on the riverbank. Quite oblivious to the eyes upon them, they were embracing, lips pressed against one another's, clinging to each other as if their lives depended on it.

"That's what we'll be like," Eponine said happily, "Monsieur Marius and me. When I become a real lady, and 'e sees that I'm just as pretty as 'er. And that I love 'im more than she ever will."

Feuilly had expected the hot anger that suddenly swelled in him, and swallowed it down, making another attempt to reason out why the mention of Marius made him so upset. He had become close to Eponine, he decided. Closer than his own sister, really.

Marius wasn't very kind to Eponine, Feuilly reasoned. That must be it. He treated her as if he were the trash of the streets, using her only to get closer to that Cosette, from what Eponine said. Imagine, sending a girl who was in love with you to seek out another woman! Feuilly couldn't think of the hurt that task must have caused Eponine. Yet she had done it.

"…a big house, with lots of little children. I think Monsieur Marius and I will 'ave lovely children, don't you?" Eponine was saying. Feuilly sighed.

"Have you ever considered another man?" he asked, not realizing that he had formed the question until Eponine turned on him with a look of indignation. The fire in her eyes almost made him physically recoil.

"Another man?" she asked angrily.

"I…it's just that he treats you so shabbily," Feuilly explained weakly, realizing that he had made a serious mistake.

"Monsieur Marius has never been anything but kind to me!"

"Eponine, he's _using_ you. He used you to find that Cosette's house, and he'll keep using you until he's married her and he has no more use for you!"

"Be quiet!" she screeched. The sunset light reflected red in her eyes, making her look quite demonic. Feuilly sprang up. He was angry now.

"You're a fool," he said coldly, "Don't you see what you could become? I can help you to be anything that you want. You're terribly intelligent, and beautiful, and you learn quicker than most of the young ladies who are in finishing schools! And you want to waste it all on the _Bonapartist_?" As soon as the words left his lips, Feuilly knew that they wouldn't help his argument. Pontmercy had fought with Enjolras over the same thing, and hadn't come back to the Café Musain since.

"You sound like that man that Monsieur Marius fought with. The one that doesn't like him just because of his politics. I think _that's_ foolish," Eponine said wickedly. The fact that she had picked up on this so quickly just infuriated Feuilly more.

"Damn it, Eponine! You're so smart, you can remember a little thing like your precious Marius getting in a fight with Enjolras, but you're such a fool you can't see how horribly he treats you!" Feuilly's voice was shaky, and he was unnerved. It was rare that he raised his voice to anyone, and even rarer that he swore.

"He won't treat me horribly…once I'm a lady," Eponine said. It was a terrible argument, even to her ears, and she felt like she would weep again. But years of being on the street steeled her heart and turned pain to anger.

"Who're you, anyway? To tell me who I can an' can't love! Me own father never told me what was good or bad for me, 'e never cared enough! Why should you?" she raised her eyes to meet Feuilly's, liquid brown into icy blue, her gaze burning into his very soul. He spoke very quietly.

"Because I'm your _friend_, 'Ponine. And I care for you and want what's best for you."

"But you don't know what's best for me," she whispered desperately, her voice cracking. Eponine dropped her eyes from his, tracing a cobblestone with the toe of her slipper.

"I guess not," he replied, his shoulders sagging in defeat. There was no reasoning with this girl.

"Would you like me to walk you home, mademoiselle Eponine?" he asked dully. She shook her head wordlessly, and he turned to go. He heard her footsteps take off in the opposite direction, then come back, following him. Feuilly paused.

"Will I see you again?" Eponine's timid voice, soft with apology came out of the darkness.

"If you wish. You know where to find me. Goodbye."

"G-goodbye."

Feuilly heard her burst into sobs as she ran off into the night, heard her small feet pounding against the pavement. He trudged home, miserable and confused, wondering if he would see Eponine again.

Eponine ran until she felt her lungs would burst, heading for Monsieur Marius' house. Just seeing him…a glimpse of him would make her feel better. But the windows were dark. He would be at _her_ house. Eponine took off again until she arrived at 55 Rue Plumet. Her skinny chest heaved up and down as she crouched by the iron gate, waiting for him to leave. She would wait all night if she had to.


	7. The Split

**Hmm…this chapter is a bit dark. Don't worry though…I'm a sucker for happy endings. So this story will probably have one. Not to give anything away! Also, I stole a bit from the musical for this part. It seemed to fit better.**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

Feuilly started home, and then realized that the ABC Friends were meeting that night, and turned his steps toward the Café Musain, making sure that he had at least five francs in his pocket. The night breeze had turned icy, and a part of his mind wondered how Eponine was faring, despite his desperate attempts not to care.

Inside the café, it was warm and crowded. Feuilly greeted his comrades, scanning the crowd for the Winecask. Upon spotting Grantaire, he strode over and slammed the money down onto the table. The drunk man raised his head and blinked hazily at Feuilly.

"Whasat for?"

"I'm paying you for the filthy wretched bet that never should have been made," Feuilly said bitterly. Grantaire's face twisted into an ugly grin, and he pulled a chair up to the table where he sat.

"C'mon, sit down and tell me all about it," he said, carefully pouring some brandy into a glass and pushing it toward Feuilly, who collapsed into the chair.

"I don't drink, Grantaire."

"You need it," the drunk insisted. Feuilly sighed and took a sip, feeling it burn down his throat. The sensation felt good, since the rest of his body was numb, whether with cold or hurt.

"She's in love with that stupid Pontmercy!" Feuilly said suddenly and angrily, not waiting for another prompt from Grantaire. He took a bigger gulp of the brandy.

"I can't be around her when it's 'Monsieur Marius' this and 'Monsieur Marius' that. He treats her as if she were a bit of manure stuck to his shoe! And when it's convenient, he'll use her to find out about some other rich girl he's in love with."

"Who's this? Feuilly, are you _drinking_?" Combeferre had come up, and now took a seat at their table.

"Yes, I'm drinking," Feuilly said grimly, tossing back the rest of the brandy, "it's a dire circumstance."

"Dear God! Has someone died?" Combeferre asked in astonishment as Feuilly grabbed the bottle and shakily poured another glass. He laughed bitterly and shook his head.

"No. I've lost a bet to our friend the Winecask."

In between glasses of brandy, Feuilly related his story to Grantaire and Combeferre, ending with his head in his hands as if he was in the depths of despair. Combeferre raised an eyebrow at his now drunk comrade.

"And the worst part is, I don't even know why I care so much!" Feuilly mumbled from between his fingers, "She's just a beggar girl who I tried to help! Why should I give a damn if she's in love with that stupid Bonapartist?"

"It sounds to me like you care for her," Combeferre said carefully, suspecting that his friend felt something a bit deeper than friendship. He hadn't missed the dreamy look Feuilly had worn when he spoke of Eponine in her new dress, sitting in the sunset.

"I do! She's like a younger sister! That's it!" Feuilly burst out, "I wouldn't want my younger sister in love with someone like him. If I had a younger sister." He drained the last of the brandy from the bottle and looked around hazily.

"I think you've had enough," Combeferre said quickly, thankful that Grantaire had settled his head down on the table awhile ago and was asleep. Feuilly looked as if he would fight for a minute, but then turned pale.

"Are you going to be ill?" Combeferre asked. Feuilly nodded and bolted out the back door to wretch the contents of his stomach onto the cobblestones of the alley.

In another part of Paris, a shivering Eponine heard familiar voices. She jumped up, wondering what her father and his gang were doing in this area. Then she realized that she still had the dress she had bought with her honest money.

"Oh, what am I going to go?" she groaned to herself, then slapped a hand over her mouth. Her father turned around to squint into the darkness.

"Hey! Who's there?"

"It's me, dear father," Eponine cried, and sprang ferally at his throat. He caught her and pushed her back.

"What are you doing?"

"I just wanted a hug," she said sweetly, restraining herself. Thernadier took a step back, his thief's eyes not missing the nice clothes his daughter wore.

"'ey, where'd you get that?"

"I…I've been stealing a bit extra to 'ave me own money," Eponine lied.

"You've never been good at fibbin'," he snarled, grabbing her shoulders, his face inches from hers, "where'd you get that dress?"

"I…" she trailed off. Thernadier shook her, making her teeth rattle.

"I've been workin'! For a nice young man who apprenticed me!" she cried out, flinching as he raised a hand to slap her. Thernadier froze, his eyes narrowing.

"So that's where you've been off to, eh? A _nice young man_?" he asked sarcastically. His gang snickered, and Montparnasse looked infuriated.

"You turn _me _down, yet you'll be a _whore_ for a stranger?" he demanded, coming forward to grab Eponine away from her father. Thernadier waved him away.

"Get off 'er, you little snake! We've got a job to do. You can 'ave her afterward, if you bring me 'nuff loot," he said. Montparnasse nodded, and Eponine shivered. Thernadier turned toward Cosette's house.

"It's not like that! I'm not his whore!" Eponine cried, but the gang ignored her.

"Now, if you rats 'aven't made too much of a ruckus, we should make a good bit off this."

"No! Not this house!" Eponine cried, forgetting Montparnasse completely. She _couldn't_ let them rob Cosette's house while Marius was there!

"There's nothing 'ere," she said desperately, "just an old man an' a girl. They're not rich at all. You won't find a sou here."

"Hush, you!"

"I'll scream! I'll do it!"

"Don't you dare. You're already in enough trouble wif me!" Thernadier said harshly. Eponine was frozen for a moment as the gang approached the house. Her mind raced; she had to save Marius. He would try to save his stupid love, and then they would kill him! That thought made her decision for her, and she screamed with all her might.

"Get underground!" Thernadier hissed at the rest of the gang. They scattered, except for Montparnasse. The door opened and Marius came out as Thernadier disappeared, leaving his daughter with the youngest member of his gang.

"Hey! You there!" Marius called, "Unhand that lady!"

Eponine's heard soared as Marius advanced toward them with a lantern. He had called her a lady! And now he would see her in her new dress and fall in love with her! He would save her from Montparnasse and they would get married…

"Eponine?" Marius asked as the lantern illuminated her face. She nodded. He frowned.

"What are you doing here? Did you scream?"

"Yes! I…my father's gang was going to rob you and…" Montparnasse slapped a hand over her mouth.

"We wasn't gonna rob you, Monsieur," he said sleekly, "she's just a bit crazy in the 'ead, that's all. Ran away from me, an' we 'ad to find 'er. I musta startled her."

Eponine bit his hand hard enough to draw blood, and he uncovered her mouth.

"Don't believe him Monsieur Marius! 'E's lying! Make 'im let me go!"

Marius looked back and forth between the two, obviously confused. He backed up, toward the house. Cosette appeared in the doorway.

"Marius? Is everything allright?" she asked.

"It's fine, darling. Go back inside," Marius called. Eponine didn't miss the love in his voice, and it made her blood boil. She struggled against Montparnasse, looking desperately at Marius.

"You know I'm not crazy, Monsieur Marius. Please help me," she begged. Montparnasse covered her mouth again and pulled her back into the street. Marius made no move to help her. Eponine whimpered, and for the third time that day, tears streamed down her face. He wasn't going to help her.

"So is that the young man you've been _seeing?_" Montparnasse hissed in her ear as he pulled her down a back alley. Eponine shook her head.

"The what's 'is name?"

"I ain't tellin' you!"

"_What is his name, Eponine?_" he spun her around to face him and raised his hand threateningly. She didn't flinch.

"No!"

Montparnasse struck Eponine across the face, and she gave up. She'd seen the beatings he was capable of.

"Feuilly. 'Is name is Feuilly," she sobbed quietly. Montparnasse's eyes narrowed, and he continued down the alley, dragging her with him. Eponine no longer cared. Marius hadn't saved her. He was in love with Cosette. The weight of the realization hit her harder than any blow from Montparnasse could. She had lost hope.

**Ahhh this is sooo dark! I'm going to write a happier chapter ASAP! Promise! Also, I really don't hate Marius. I'm just making him evil for this story.**


	8. Together Again

**Once again, sorry for the last chapter being so dark! I promise it gets happier now! It also gets a bit fluffy. But what's romance without a little fluff, really?**

Feuilly woke the next morning with a splitting headache, in an unfamiliar room. He groaned and rolled over, hoping that he wouldn't find a strange woman next to him. It hadn't happened before, but he had heard horror stories from other _les amis._ Thankfully, Feuilly soon realized that he was on a couch and not a bed. In a vaguely familiar living room. His mouth was dry, and he got up in search of a drink.

"Finally awake?" Courfeyrac came down the stairs.

"Unfortunately," Feuilly replied, "Do you have any water? I'm dying of thirst."

"Of course," Courfeyrac said kindly. Then he added impishly,

"You look like hell."

"I _feel _like hell," Feuilly groaned, sitting back onto the couch as his friend left the sitting room. He buried his head in his hands, feeling terrible. Courfeyrac returned with a glass of water, and he gulped it down. Without asking, Courfeyrac refilled it. Feuilly sipped it slower this time.

"So," Courfeyrac began carefully, "what are you going to do about this girl?"

"I don't know," Feuilly said miserably as the memories of the day before flooded his mind, "I'm no good at things like this. I've never cared so much for anyone in my life."

"Not even your sister?" Courfeyrac asked slyly. Feuilly shot him a dirty look.

"What? She's quite pretty. And I'm sure she'd be prettier in that dress you were telling me about. In the sunset. Your drunken speech about her set quite the scene."

"_Fine._ Perhaps I do care for Eponine as more than a sister. What of it? She's gone for good. I'll never see her again after I spoke so terribly of Marius."

"You could seek her out," Courfeyrac suggested.

"Where would I look?" Feuilly said hopelessly.

"Ask around. Find out where Pontmercy lives. Talk to him, ask if he's seen her."

"I don't know, Courfeyrac. It all seems so hopeless. She's so in love with him. And I…I don't even know if I'm in love with her! I care for her, yes, but I've never been in love before," Feuilly rambled, wringing his hands in frustration, "how am I supposed to know?"

"I don't know. I'm told that when you're in love, it just feels right," Courfeyrac said, shrugging.

"I'll find Pontmercy, then," Feuilly decided, "and see if he'll lead me to Eponine."

"That's the spirit!" Courfeyrac cried, slapping him on the back. Feuilly winced.

"Oh, sorry!"

"Not so loud, please," Feuilly said, covering his ears, "I think I should get home and change before this quest for my lady fair."

"Excellent idea," Courfeyrac said, lowering his voice dramatically, "I'll see you at the next meeting. Good luck, Feuilly."

"Thank you, Courfeyrac. I have a feeling I'll need it," Feuilly replied dryly. In truth, he had little hope of finding Eponine. He had a feeling that she would be extremely good at making herself scarce if she wanted.

His brain was still trying to process the idea of being in "love" with Eponine as he trudged home. Despite his still throbbing head, he felt as if a million thoughts per minute were rushing through his mind. Feuilly shook his head, trying to make sense, and was rewarded with a renewed rush of pain.

Thankfully, Courfeyrac didn't live terribly far from him, and he was soon close enough to see his stoop. And the pile of trash on it. Who would leave their trash on his steps? He felt extreme annoyance; nothing was going right this morning.

As he got closer, it seemed to be a pile of laundry. This confused Feuilly even more as he approached. Yes, it was laundry, with a green dress on top. And a head, and arms…

"Dear God," Feuilly whispered, breaking into a run. He knelt over the girl on his doorstep, rolling her from her side to her back and confirming his worst fear. It was Eponine, her new dress ripped to pieces and her shoes gone. When he touched her she was icy cold, and bruises darkened the pale skin of her face.

He bent his head down over her slightly parted lips, and placed a hand against her chest, nearly collapsing with relief when he felt breath and a heartbeat.

He unlocked the door and scooped her up, bringing her inside. For an instant, he considered laying her on the hard, barely padded bench that served as his couch, but instead took her to his bedroom and laid her gently onto his small bed.

Eponine whimpered, but didn't wake, and he dashed into the kitchen to dampen a rag. Her clothes were filthy, and bloody in places, and he wondered if she would be more comfortable in one of his shirts. Just the thought of undressing her made him blush, and so he began to wipe the dirt from her exposed skin, his hands shaking, wondering what the bruises were like under the fabric.

When Feuilly ran the damp rag over her face, Eponine stirred. Her big brown eyes opened slowly, and he saw fear in them. When she saw him, she recoiled hard, nearly falling out of bed. He caught her and held her against his chest, whispering to her softly.

"Shhh, Eponine. It's me, Feuilly. I'm not going to hurt you."

Her trembling fingers reached up to trace his jaw, and twist themselves into his shirt, holding on as if for dear life. Her lips opened and closed, but she seemed unable to speak.

"Listen to me, Eponine," he said gently, "Do you think any of your bones are broken?"

She shook her head.

"Do you need a doctor?"

Her lips formed the word "no", and she shook her head again.

"I'm going to bring you some water and a cloth and some soap, and leave you one of my shirts. I want you to bathe and change while I make some tea and a little food for you. Just open the door a little when you're done. All right?"

She shook her head violently, clinging to him more tightly. Her lips moved, and she whispered almost inaudibly,

"D-d-don't leave me 'ere alone."

"Why not? Nothing will harm you. I'll only be gone but a minute."

"Do you p-romise? That nothing can 'urt me?"

"I promise," Feuilly said, looking into her eyes and seeing fear, but also trust. He kissed her forehead and left, fetching the water quickly and leaving her alone.

Eponine stripped off her dress, and took time to wash properly before changing into Feuilly's clean white shirt. It hung on her thin frame, and was long enough to cover her decently. She sat gingerly on the bed, still sore.

Feuilly came in a few minutes later, bidding her to lie down and bringing her tea and a loaf of bread with some cheese. He sat with her while she sipped the warm liquid and nibbled at the food, noticing with satisfaction that she had stopped shaking. Now that her face was clean, the bruises didn't look quite so bad, and he had gotten a glimpse of her legs. They weren't as bruised as he had feared, although Eponine would be quite stiff for a few days.

She ate very little, and soon pushed the food away, concentrating on the tea.

"You're not hungry?" Feuilly asked, worried.

"I'm more cold than anythin' right now," she replied. He went to the closet and fetched another blanket, covering her gently. She smiled for the first time. A small smile, but a smile that made Feuilly inexplicably happy.

"Thank you. I don't deserve this."

"Yes you do. You deserve more than this. I wish I had ten more blankets to warm you, and a softer bed with more pillows for you to lay on."

"This is more than I ever expected. After Monsieur Mar-" she seemed to choke on the name, "after _'e_ abandonded me to Montparnasse, I lost faith in everything."

"Pontmercy did _what_?"

" 'E…well, it's a long story."

"I have nowhere to go," Feuilly said grimly, perching on the edge of the bed, "tell me."

"I…well after you an' I had that row last night, I ran off to…to _his_ house. An' 'e wasn't there, so I went to _her_ house to find 'im. I was waitin' outside for 'im to see me in my new dress, an' me father's gang came up. Said they were going to rob the place. Me father asked where I'd gotten the dress, an' I told him I'd been doin' work for a young man. Montparnasse, bein' the brute that 'e is assumed…" Eponine blushed, "assumed the worst. So then they set about tryin' to rob the place and I screamed. To warn them. I wish now I 'adn't," she admitted bitterly, twisting a lock of hair around her finger.

"An' the rest of the gang took off, but Montparnasse, 'e's 'ad his eye on me for awhile. Mon- _he_ came out of the 'ouse and told Montparnasse to 'unhand that lady'. But when 'e saw it was me," she swallowed against a lump in her throat, tears springing unbidden to her eyes, "An' Montparnasse told 'im I was crazy. _'E believed 'im._ And 'e let 'im haul me off, like I was nothin' better than them crazy old women that 'ang out by the docks," she whispered the last sentence miserably, pulling her knees up to her chest and hugging them.

Feuilly scooted closer to Eponine, carefully putting an arm around her shoulders. He could guess what had happened after she had been dragged away from Marius. He expected her to recoil, but instead she responded by cuddling closer into him, pressing her thin frame against his. He could feel her sharp bones through their clothes.

Feuilly felt a fierce rush of emotion clutch at his chest. All he wanted to do was protect this fragile creature, to treat her as she deserved. He wanted Eponine to never have to feel fear or hurt ever again. He wanted to hold her and not feel her ribs.

"I want to take care of you, Eponine," he said softly.

**Ooooh cliffhanger! **

**-giggle-**

**Next chapter soon, I promise!**


	9. Talks and Confessions

**Thanks for the reviews! Hugs and rainbows to you!!**

**I have two papers due in the next two weeks, so I might be a bit slower putting out chapters, even though I'd rather write this anyday.**

**Also [if you're interested in more stories by me…not to sound vain!!], see my poll. I have a new story idea, but am not sure how it will go over. **

**Thanks!**

**3**

"Take care of me? But you're already doing that," Eponine pointed out, looking up at Feuilly.

"Well, yes. But remember what you were thinking when we were sitting by the river? That someday the man of your dreams would come and sweep you off your feet, and take care of you forever?"

"Of course," she said, looking a bit sad, "but that whole dream was ruined by what 'appened last night."

"Just because Marius –" he began angrily, but she interrupted.

"It's not about 'im. Well, it is," she paused, frowning, to gather her thoughts. Feuilly waited impatiently, biting his lip and watching her.

"I _am_ upset about what 'appened with Marius. I've loved 'im since the day we met. But I'm not stupid. 'E betrayed me. I can't be in love with someone who 'urts me like that," Eponine said softly.

"But you were so upset about him this morning," Feuilly said carefully, frowning. His stomach was twisted into a knot with anticipation. He wanted so badly to know what was coming, and yet feared it. Eponine was so volatile, he was afraid of upsetting her and having her run off barefoot into the cold Paris day. He felt that if he said the wrong thing now, he would never see her again, and the thought distressed him more than he would ever admit.

"Yes," she replied, "I'd 'ate to meet the person who is betrayed by someone they're in love with and isn't miserable the next day. But then," she blushed a bit, "then you 'eld me in your arms, an' some'ow I wasn't so sad anymore," Eponine was thoroughly pink now, from her cheekbones to the tips of her ears, but she continued bravely, "An' last night, as Montparnasse was pulling me away, I thought of you. Ow you _listen_ to me, an' care about what I 'ave to say. An' some'ow I knew that you would 'ave stopped 'im."

"Of course I would have stopped him," Feuilly said gently, "_I care about you._"

"I 'oped you did," Eponine said, smiling a little, "because I think…I think I care for you too. All I wanted last night was to see you. I must 'ave walked a mile to get 'ere."

"Oh, Eponine," he said softly.

"It's all right. Me feet are tough. An' it was worth it. I'm glad I'm 'ere."

"Yes. I'm glad too," Feuilly's heart soared, and his stomach untwisted. A large grin spread across his face, and he was sure that he looked stupid, but he didn't care. He'd never felt anything like this before. Eponine spoke again,

"I was so scared that after the row we got into. I thought you wouldn't speak to me anymore because I was so stupid, an' I couldn't see past that…that…worthless Bonapartist!" she said vehemently, causing Feuilly to laugh aloud and hug her.

"An' I didn't know if you'd still want me after Montparnasse…" she trailed off and looked at her lap. Feuilly grasped her chin between his thumb and forefinger, tilting her face up so that her eyes met his. Her lower lip was trembling. Eponine opened her mouth to speak.

"Sssshhh," Feuilly hushed her, "I know that whatever he did to you wasn't your fault. I'll never make you talk about it, and I don't blame you for it. I care for you in spite of it. I don't think anything could make me stop caring for you." He wrapped his arms around her and kissed the top of her head. She laid her head tentatively on his shoulder and closed her eyes.

"I like this," Eponine admitted softly. Feuilly nodded, resting his chin on top of her head. She sighed and yawned.

"Are you tired, _ma chère_?" he asked. She nodded, blinking sleepily. The conversation seemed to have tired her greatly, for her face was pale and beads of sweat stood out on her forehead. Feuilly touched her face; she was burning hot. Just then, Eponine pulled the blankets up to her chin, shivering.

"I'm so cold," she said between chattering teeth. Feuilly frowned and put his hand on her forehead again.

"You're hot to the touch."

"I feel like I'm outside in winter," she replied.

"Lie down," he said, tucking the blankets around her, "I think you're becoming ill."

"No, 'm all right," Eponine maintained, "I'm jus' tired, that's all."

"Then sleep," Feuilly said gently, "I'm going to fetch a doctor."

"You can't," she insisted, "I can't afford one. An'…I don't want you to leave me alone."

Feuilly sighed. She was right; neither of them could afford a doctor, and he wasn't very keen on leaving her alone, although the realization that this Montparnasse who had terrorized her didn't know her location was comforting. He had feared that the brute had been the one to dump her on the steps.

"All right…I'll stay here with you. Now sleep, _chère._ I'll be right here, I promise." He fetched a book from the shelves on the history of Italy, and sat on the only other piece of furniture in the room, a rather hard chair that he had padded with a pillow.

Eponine sighed, and tossed and turned for a bit. Finally, she asked timidly,

"Would you read aloud to me?"

"I don't know if you'd find this interesting."

"It's history, isn't it? Of…It-aly?"

"Yes. It was written by Francesco Guicciardini in 1561."

"I think history is interesting," she said, a little defensively, but then admitted, "even if I'm not sure where Italy is."

"It boarders France on the southeast," Feuilly explained, "and it's beautiful. I'd like to visit someday."

"Read to me," she begged. He smiled and conceded. At first, she asked frequent questions about what words meant, or where something was, but she soon drifted off to sleep. Feuilly smiled and began to

Eponine slept peacefully for awhile, but was soon tossing and turning, her brow creased with worry. Her lips moved and her throat worked as if she wanted to scream, but the only noise she could force out of her throat was an occasional soft whimper.

Feuilly was torn between waking her and letting her sleep when she sat upright, a strangled sob tearing from her throat and her eyes wide open. He was at her side in an instant, holding the shaking girl and whispering soothingly into her hair.

"Shhh, 'Ponine. It was just a dream, _chère._"

"It…it was so real," she panted, clutching at him. Her face was now gray, and her skin was chilled to touch, yet she threw off the blankets.

"What did you dream of?"

"It's a dream I have often. It's dark an' I want to scream and run, but I can't. I can't move anything, and I can't breathe until I wake up. An' I _know_ I'm dreamin', but I can't make myself wake up," she said, her eyes wide in her ashen face, "I'm 'ot. Is it warm in 'ere?"

"No," Feuilly said, "and you're cold to the touch. An hour ago, you were hot to touch and shivering with a chill. I must leave you for a bit, 'Ponine. I'm going to fetch my friend Joly."

"Why?" Eponine looked absolutely terrified.

"He's a medical student," Feuilly explained, "and you're ill. He can help you."

Eponine opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off firmly,

"I'll lock the door. You'll be safe, I promise. You need a doctor, 'Ponine. I'm afraid for you." A pleading note had crept into his voice, making it crack a little with emotion. She didn't look terribly happy, but she conceded.

"Hurry back," she begged. Despite the situation, it made Feuilly smile to know that someone needed him. The orphan in him had always wished that someone would care for him as Eponine did, that someone would miss him when he was gone, and delight in the moments spent together.

"I promise I will," he said, kneeling by the bed, "is there anything you need while I'm gone?"

"No," Eponine replied. He hugged her and kissed her softly on the forehead, tucking her in before fetching his coat and dashing out of the door.

**French translation: **_chère _**means "dear" – but you probably already knew that.**

**Also, I don't own **_**A History of Italy**_** by the guy with the really long name that I'm too tired to type!**


	10. Sickness and More Bets

**Oops…instead of doing my papers, I've done another chapter. But there's no class tomorrow because of Election Day…I'll do them then. Who wants to graduate college anyway? That would mean I'd have to face…the real world! Eek! Anyway, here it is. Enjoy!**

Feuilly walked the streets of Paris quickly, taking back alleys that he had discovered as an orphan in the streets, his head down against the wind and light snow that had begun to fall. He was soon banging on the younger medical student's door, fidgeting impatiently on the step. Finally, the door opened a crack and Joly peered out.

"Feuilly! What are you doing, my friend? Come in out of the cold!"

"I'm actually in somewhat of a hurry, Joly. I need your assistance and your knowledge."

"Oh?"

"My…friend is quite ill, and neither of us can afford a doctor," Feuilly admitted, a little ashamed, "I wondered if you would come by and do what you can."

"Of course. Just let me fetch my coat and a few other things. Do come in for a minute, while I gather them. Tell me what her symptoms are."

"Her skin is gray as ash," Feuilly said, stepping in and shutting the door, "one minute she's cold to the touch and throwing away the blankets, saying she's burning up, and the next minute she's boiling to touch and shivering under them. And she's constantly damp with sweat."

"Is this the girl that you and Grantaire made the bet about? The one you were so miserable about losing last night?" Joly said, stuffing something into a bag. Feuilly blushed.

"Yes," he admitted.

"What happened? I thought she had gone away forever."

"How do you know that?"

"You were practically shouting your story to anyone who would listen. I came outside to see if you were all right while you were retching, and you spouted more than just bile," Joly replied dryly, a half-grin twisting his mouth. Feuilly coughed, embarrassed,

"I…Courfeyrac took me in while I was drunk. I came home the next morning to find her on my doorstep, barefoot and with a torn dress. She said that she had walked a mile to get there, and had been there nearly half the night. Pontmercy betrayed her to…a terrible brute."

"I would expect no less from a Bonapartist," Joly pointed out, putting his arms into his coat and shrugging it on, "all right, let's go."

The two men hurried down the streets, Feuilly avoiding the back alleys he had used on the way there for Joly's sake. A hypochondriac, Joly probably would have collapsed from some sort of virus he had picked up from a less than savory breath of air from the questionable streets. How a man could be so worried and yet so cheerful all the time was beyond Feuilly.

As they hurried along, Feuilly elaborated on what had happened to Eponine the night before, and the events of the morning. Joly nodded and kept up a pleasant, encouraging stream of replies that soothed Feuilly a little.

They finally reached Feuilly's house, and he went first into the back room. Eponine had fallen into a fitful sleep, her face pinched with worry and her body tense.

As gently as he could, Feuilly shook Eponine's shoulder, calling her softly back to consciousness. Her eyes blinked open, and took in the two men. Her body tensed and there was a flash of fear as she took in Joly. He knelt by the bed so that his face was level with hers, and spoke,

"Good day, mademoiselle Eponine. My name is Joly, and I'm a friend of Feuilly. I'm a medical student, and he has asked me if I can help you to feel better. May I?" His cheerful, easygoing demeanor seemed to comfort Eponine, and she nodded, managing a small smile.

"I'll be here too," Feuilly said, perching by her feet. Her smile widened a bit as she looked at him, and he saw fondness in her eyes.

"Excellent," Joly said, "I'll need your wrist to take your pulse, and then I'll need to lay a hand on your forehead to get your temperature, all right?"

"All right," she said softly. Feuilly stood close by as Joly looked Eponine over, explaining everything that he was doing. Feuilly wondered at this at first, but then realized that she had probably never seen a doctor before. The medical student had her at ease and smiling, asking her about herself as he looked her over.

Finally, he asked for a glass of water, and as Eponine didn't seem to mind staying with him alone, Feuilly fetched it. Joly had a folded paper with some powder in it, and he spoke to Eponine.

"I'm going to need you to put out your tongue, and I'm going to put this on it. It will be very bitter – that's what the water is for. You can't spit it out, allright?"

She nodded and put her tongue out. Joly poured a little of the powder on it, and Eponine pulled a terrible face, grabbing for the water glass and gulping it down. Feuilly and Joly traded small smiles as she sputtered a bit.

"Oh! That was 'orrible!"

"I know," Joly said sympathetically, "and unfortunately, you're going to have to do that again twice a day until this is gone."

"Can't I just take it all at once?" she asked, still making a face. Joly laughed.

"I'm sorry, but no. It should be gone in a little less than a week, though, so you'll have to suffer until then. But it will make you feel better."

"All right," she said, taking another drink of water. Joly said goodbye and walked with Feuilly to the front room. The men shook hands.

"She'll need as much broth and tea as you can get into her, and a bit of the powder every day until it's gone. If she's up to it, you can also feed her a bit of bread soaked in tea or broth. Keep her warm and comfortable," Joly instructed.

"Thank you so much," Feuilly said, "let me at least pay you for the medicine."

"I refuse," Joly said, smiling, "it's left over from the last few times I've thought myself sick. I'm getting quite the pile of it."

"You're kind," Feuilly said, "thank you again."

"As long as you invite me to the wedding," Joly said teasingly, making Feuilly sputter.

"Wh-what?"

"Oh, Feuilly, it's terribly obvious that you're smitten with the girl. You hovered like a mother over her child while I was looking at her."

"I…I didn't want her to be frightened, that's all," Feuilly protested, making Joly laugh.

"You needn't be ashamed, my friend. We've all been making bets on when your wedding would be."

"_What_?"

"Of course. When you were 'apprenticing' her, you were late for meetings, and no one ever saw you, except painting on the corner with her by your side. And with a girl as pretty as Eponine, it was only a matter of time," Joly replied, so jovially that Feuilly couldn't be angry with him.

"So everyone knew that I was smitten but me?" Feuilly asked. Joly nodded.

"I can only hope Grantaire loses," Feuilly said dryly, "What month did he put his money on?"

"He's got ten francs on June. We all put in ten, and whoever guesses the right month gets the pot."

"What are the months that nobody picked?"

"Can't tell you that, my friend" Joly said cheerfully, "self interest, you know."

Feuilly laughed. It was a good feeling after the past few days. Joly joined in, and only when they heard Eponine stir in the other room did they quiet down. Joly took his leave, and Feuilly rejoined Eponine in the bedroom.

The medicine Joly had given her seemed to be working well, as she slept peacefully, her face smooth and free of worry. Her breathing was deep and even, and Feuilly felt more relaxed as he bent down to kiss her forehead tenderly. He tried to read, but began to yawn and doze in the hard chair. He rummaged around and found his last blanket and pillow, and lay on the floor next to the bed, quickly falling into a deep sleep.

**Click review, click review! Pleeeeease?**


	11. The Joy of

**Well, I'm sick and home from classes today. So here's another chapter, yay! Now back to my papers.**

**-sigh-**

**Enjoy!**

Feuilly awoke several hours later, feeling cheerful and refreshed, despite a pain in his lower back. He sat up and stretched, reaching for _A History of Italy_ on the chair. He would read a bit before he woke Eponine to have her take her medicine.

His hand ran over the smooth fabric of the cushion, finding nothing. He turned to survey the empty chair, and looked around on the floor, wondering if the book had fallen somewhere.

"What are you lookin' for?" Eponine's voice floated down from the bed. Feuilly stood and saw that she was sitting upright, propped up by pillows, and reading the book. He pointed to it.

"That."

"Oh. I jus'…I couldn't sleep anymore. You were asleep, an' I didn't think you'd mind if I read it a bit."

"Of course not," Feuilly said, smiling, "I've got many books. You can read as many as you like while you recover." His stomach growled, and he realized that he hadn't eaten all day.

"Are you hungry, Eponine?" he asked.

"No," she replied. The little color that sleep had kissed her cheeks with was fading, and the beads of sweat were beginning to stand out on her forehead again. As Feuilly left to make himself some food and her a little broth, she began to feel tired, and rearranged the pillows so she could lie down. The little effort that it took exhausted her, and she collapsed weakly onto them, breathing a bit heavily.

Eponine was only half conscious when Feuilly came back with warm broth for her and some bread and cheese and meat for himself. She had slipped into a feverish delirium, and was fretful, crying out softly at a phantom that didn't exist.

"Eponine," Feuilly said softly, bringing her back to him, "I've brought you something to eat."

" 'M not hungry," she mumbled, pulling the covers up to her chin, "Jus' cold."

"Please, will you try and eat? It's time to take your medicine too."

"I can't," she protested weakly.

"I'll help you. All you have to do is swallow, all right?"

"All right."

Feuilly gently lifted her head and poured a little powder on her tongue. She made a half-disgusted face and swallowed the spoonful of broth he put to her lips. The warm liquid caused her to make a weak attempt to rid herself of blankets, and to whimper that she was too hot. Feuilly gave her cool water and put a damp rag on her forehead, and soon she was shivering.

He sat in bed with her and held her through the fever, through the chills and the nightmares that haunted her.

Feuilly got very little sleep for the next week, spending every waking moment reading to Eponine, or helping her read, trying to get a little food into her, and giving her medicine. Only when she was peacefully sleeping would he lie on the hard floor and catch a quick nap. He also had his job to keep up; with her there he needed the money.

As a result, he looked a bit haggard at the next meeting of the ABC Friends, and _les amis_ were quick to pick up on it. Courfeyrac looked on in amusement as Feuilly spilled the whole story. Joly, laughing in the corner, took a bet from the last _amis: _Enjolras himself, who was incredibly pleased with the situation.

However, not even the prospect of a beggar girl marrying one of the Friends of the ABC could deter Enjolras for long, and he started in on one of his triumphant speeches of barricades and uprisings. He had decided that they would build their rampart in the summer months, as it would be easier to hold out if they were blockaded.

Grantaire slammed his hand against the table, making the men jump and look at him in surprise.

"Damnit, Enjolras! You're always ruining things for me?" he cried out.

"What did I do this time, Winecask?" Enjolras inquired dryly, not looking terribly interested.

"My bet was for June!"

"You realize that July and August are summer months, and even May might be summery enough to camp out if need be," came the reply.

"Yes, but…now I've told you, and you're going to schedule it for June on purpose! Damnit!"

A general chuckle broke out among the crowd, and Feuilly fought back a blush, looking calmly over at the other man.

"That's what you get for gambling," he scolded Grantaire, who threw him a dirty look. This prompted Feuilly to continue,

"Oh, and our bet is back on. So I'd like those five francs back, if you please."

The chuckle turned into a roar of laughter, and even Enjolras' fire was lost for a few minutes in the camaraderie. Combeferre slapped Feuilly on the back, and Courfeyrac shook his hand. Grantaire was quite genial as he handed the five francs over to Feuilly, remarking that he would get them back soon enough.

Feuilly grinned lopsidedly and didn't argue. Just then, Enjolras cleared his throat loudly enough to command the attention of the room, which fell silent. Joly winked at Feuilly as their leader began in on an elaborate diagram.

A few hours later, Feuilly was walking home. It was snowing again, and he worried for Eponine. The house would be chilly, and she was still weak from being sick. Would she be able to stoke the fire and keep herself warm? She was so vulnerable to pneumonia now that she had been ill once, according to Joly.

But she was fine when he got home, sitting up and reading. She had been doing that a lot lately, and he never got tired of answering her questions, of explaining the pronunciation of this word and the meaning of that one. Eponine proved to be a quick learner, and Feuilly was pleased with her progress. She had made it a quarter of the way through _A History of Italy_ already.

He kissed her forehead, achingly aware that he hadn't yet gotten a real kiss from her, but willing to wait. She smiled up at him.

"How are you feeling today, _ma chère_?" he asked, sitting on the hard wooden chair.

"I feel better!" she said hopefully, "I think soon I'll be able to start 'elping you with your fans again."

"Actually, I may have a better idea," he said, smiling, "how would you like a job of your own in a book shop?"

"I…" Eponine was speechless, but her face was lit up.

"The man who runs my favorite book shop asked me if I knew anyone who would like a job. I said I was acquainted with the perfect young lady. You start next week."

She let out a thoroughly uncharacteristic squeal and hugged him.

"Thank you so much! I'll finally be able to earn me own keep, 'onestly!" she said delightedly.

"And the position includes a little apartment over the shop. You'll have your own house," Feuilly said. Eponine looked a little taken aback at that.

"You don't want me 'ere with you?" she asked timidly, "I thought you were fond of me."

"It's not that I don't want you here," Feuilly explained gently, "or that I'm not fond of you. It's just not proper for an unwed couple to live under the same roof."

"Oh. Will I still see you?"

"Of course, _chère._ As much as you'd like," he replied, stroking her hair tenderly. This seemed to be enough for Eponine.

"I 'ave always wanted me own 'ouse," she said thoughtfully, "with flowers on me windowsills and a pretty quilt on me own little bed."

"Oh, there's one thing," Feuilly said, wincing a little at her bad grammar, "you've got to learn how to speak a bit better."

"What's wrong with the way I speak?" Eponine demanded.

"Well, nothing big really, there's just a few grammar problems, and you use words wrong…" he said carefully.

"I don't talk like you," Eponine said bluntly. He nodded.

"But you can teach me? Before I 'ave to start working?"

"Of course I can. And it won't be hard for you, I'm sure. We'll start tomorrow, all right?"

"All right," Eponine nodded determinedly. Feuilly smiled and moved to the edge of the bed, taking her into his arms. She was still thin, he thought, but she was filling out. Her bones weren't quite as sharp, and her face had color all the time now. She smiled more and her hair had taken on a sheen now that she was bathing regularly. The effect was quite pleasing.

"Oh, Eponine. You're very dear to me, do you know that?" he asked tenderly.

"You've been very good to me," she replied, resting her head on his shoulder, "an' I 'avent thanked you properly. You saved me life."

"You needn't thank me," Feuilly said, "I did it because I care for you, Eponine. The greatest thanks is knowing that you feel the same way about me."

"Maybe I can do one thing more," Eponine said. And she raised her face to his and kissed him, her arms winding around his neck as his pulled her close.

Neither knew how long the kiss lasted, and neither wanted it to end. But finally they broke apart, panting a little, eyes glowing at each other. And then they smiled, for they had ever dreamed of finding the joy of love in their first kiss.

**Click review, click review!**


	12. Burnt Dinner

**Ugh. Day 2 of being home sick and a very lazy Saturday/Sunday = new chapter.**

**I don't own "Life Sculpture" by Doane.**

**Enjoy!**

The next day, Feuilly brought two square packages home. Eponine looked at them curiously.

"What are those?" she inquired.

"Presents for you," he replied with a smile, "here, open them."

She looked delighted, and went for the smaller one first. It was a small book, maroon with gold print. She read the title,

"Poetry? Why poetry?"

"Because poets not only have impeccable grammar, it will give you something to make small talk with customers about," Feuilly explained, "Poetry is always fashionable and proper in discussion. Open the other."

Eponine smiled and unwrapped the second. It was a dress, the same color green as her ruined one. It was a little simpler, but was just as pretty in her eyes.

"I couldn't afford shoes," he admitted, a little ashamed, "so you'll have to make do until you can. I'm sorry."

To his surprise, Eponine laughed. She got up from the bed for the first time since she had been ill, and kissed him.

"Thank you so much," she said softly, wrapping her arms around his waist and looking up into his eyes. Feuilly kissed her forehead and held her, smiling.

"I didn't think you'd want to go to your new job in one of my shirts," he teased. Eponine pushed his shoulder playfully, stepping back and holding her arms out.

"I don't think it looks so bad," she said, looking down at herself. Feuilly followed her gaze, taking in her hair that hung loose around her shoulders, down to her skinny ankles and back up her thin legs, past her knees, to where the hem of his shirt barely covered…he blushed suddenly and cleared his throat.

Eponine, who had followed his gaze, blushed too and slid back into bed.

"Here," Feuilly said, to cover up their mutual embarrassment, "pick out a poem you want to read out loud to me, and I'll be back in a minute, all right?"

Eponine just nodded and opened the book, leafing through the pages and reading bits of poems here and there, finally selecting Doane's "My Star"_._ The book was open in her lap when Feuilly returned.

"Did you find one?"

"Yes. It's called 'Life Sculpture' by George Washington Doane."

"I've not heard that one. Read it to me."

"_Chisel in 'and-"_

"_H_and. Pronounce the _h_."

"_In hand stood the sculptor boy,_

_With his marble block before 'im-"_

"_H_im."

"_And _h_is_," she over pronounced the _h,_ but it was an improvement, and Feuilly kept quiet. She continued,

"_eyes lit up with a smile of joy,_

_As an angel dream passed o'er _h_im. _Why o'er and not over? Do I 'ave to say o'er?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.

"You say over. Poets shorten words sometimes. And it's _h_ave," he reminded her patiently. She read again,

"_He carved the dream on that shapeless stone,_

_With many a sharp incision;_

_With heaven's own light the sculptor shone,_

_He'd caught that angel vision,_" she stopped there for a minute, and raised her eyes to Feuilly.

"Is that what _h_appens when you paint?"

"Well…no, not really. Not my fans anyway," he explained, "it's not much of an 'angel vision' when someone's telling you what to paint."

"Oh," Eponine looked a little disappointed, and read the rest of the poem in a sort of monotone.

"That was good," Feuilly said when she had finished, "I think as long as you remember to pronounce your _h_, you will be fine. You're a quick learner, and I think you'll pick up on the way your employer and customers speak. Read me another."

And so they passed the week. Eponine would have poems ready when Feuilly came home, and would read out loud. By Monday, her grammar wasn't perfect, but it had improved greatly. She had also been looking through newspapers for drawings of women, and had been practicing pinning her hair up.

The first of December had brought a beautiful snowfall, but the pretty white fluff didn't bring the usual joy for Feuilly. All he could think of as he walked home were Eponine's bare feet, trudging through the cold the next morning. Sunday was always a slow day, but he had hoped that with Christmas approaching, he could earn a bit extra to get her a pair of shoes. But the snow had discouraged shoppers, and it had been a cold, unprofitable day.

When he opened the door to his house, an acrid smell filled his nostrils. Smoke! He ran into the kitchen, where he beheld the source: a pot in Eponine's hand. She was staring at it in horror, her eyes filled with tears, as it excreted thick smoke. Whatever had been in the bottom was charred and black.

When Eponine saw Feuilly, the tears in her eyes spilled over, and she nearly dropped the pot.

"What happened?" he asked kindly.

"I jus'… wanted to make dinner," she sniffed, "I wanted to do somethin' nice for you, since you've been so kind to me."

"Oh, _ma __chère_," Feuilly said softly. He took the pan from her hands and set it back onto the stove. Then he took her into his arms and kissed her gently, hugging her tightly. Eponine looked up at him curiously.

"You're not mad at me?"

"How could I be?"

"I ruined dinner," she seemed baffled, "Me…my father would be horribly angry."

"You tried to do something sweet for me. I can't be angry with you for that. We can eat some bread and cheese and cold meat for dinner. I don't mind."

"All right, go and sit in the living room," Eponine said, happy again, "and I'll bring it in to you."

"All right," Feuilly replied, laughing. She kissed him on the cheek as he left the room, and he heard her humming happily, if out of tune as she bustled around. It didn't take her long to bring out the tray, and they sat together, eating by the fire rather than in the chilly dining room.

After dinner, Eponine read aloud, and they went to bed. Although Feuilly was sad that he would get less time with her, he was a little excited about getting his bed back. Since she was feeling better, he had moved onto the couch, but it was hard.

Eponine was up and dressed when Feuilly awoke the next morning, and was pinning her hair up in the little mirror he had hanging on the wall. He gave her a pair of thick wool socks to wear in place of shoes, and an old jacket that he had outgrown.

"Oh, Feuilly. You've done more for me than anyone. You're ever so good at taking care of me," she said with a smile, laying her fingers against his cheek and smiling up at him.

"You're going to be late, 'Ponine!" he said, giving her a hug, "I'll see you tonight, all right?"

"All right. Goodbye."

"Goodbye, _ma chère,_" he said, giving her a kiss, "have a good day."

Eponine looked nervous, but she went out the door with her head held high despite her lack of shoes and man's coat. Feuilly watched her, vowing to himself that someday she would dress as fine as any lady in Paris.


	13. Meetings

**Yay I feel lots better!**

**Thanks for the reviews!**

**I feel like this story is getting rather boring and mundane…so I'm going to try and put some action in ASAP. I did like the suggestion of Feuilly and Marius throwing down, so I'll probably use that sometime soon. Any other suggestions to put in more action are welcome!**

Eponine hurried through the streets. Despite her lack of shoes and the shabbiness of Feuilly's old coat, she was warmer than she had ever been in the winter, and her eyes were bright as she made her way to the book shop.

She pushed the door open, and a short man who was a bit overweight and balding came from the back. He stopped and looked her over.

"So you're the girl Feuilly sent to help me out?"

"Yes sir," Eponine replied.

"Well, you're not much to look at, but I guess you'll do. My name's Martin Berube."

"I'm Eponine Therandier," she replied.

"Eponine, eh? We don't sell books like that in _my _shop. Come on, I'll show you where to put your coat," he turned and walked toward a set of steps at the back of the shop, where an older woman sat.

"This is my wife, Thérèse. Thérèse, this is our new shop girl, Eponine." M. Berube said. The woman was plump, with graying brown hair and a cheerful face. She shook Eponine's hand warmly.

"It's good to have you, my dear. Here, let me take your coat."

"Thank you," Eponine remembered to say. She wondered if this was what children felt like on their first day of school as they showed her where to hang Feuilly's coat. Thérèse Berube took her upstairs, showing her the tiny apartment above the shop where she would live.

"My husband and I lived here when we first moved to Paris," she explained, "but now we've bought a proper house. It's small, but it's cozy."

There was a little bedroom furnished with an armoire, a bed, and a washstand with a pitcher and basin on it, and a cracked mirror hung above it, and a kitchen with a little stove for heat. There was even a tiny sitting room with a hard bench that was worse than Feuilly's couch. But Eponine liked it.

"I'll give you some fabric for the curtains, you can sew them yourself. You know how to sew, yes?" Thérèse was asking. Eponine shook her head no.

"Dear me, a girl of your age who can't sew! We'll have to change that. I always wanted a daughter, you know, but instead I have two sons. We'd best get back downstairs, before M. Berube gets upset. That man is ever so impatient!" she chattered as they made their way down the steps.

The job was straightforward, and Eponine learned it quickly. She enjoyed it, and when there was a lack of customers in the shop, Thérèse taught her to sew. Soon, she had pretty flowered curtains in her windows, and had earned enough money for a pair of shoes and another dress, this one a dark pink color.

Eponine saw Feuilly every night, and was embroidering his initials into a silk handkerchief for his Christmas gift. The tip of her index finger on her left hand was rough and often bandaged because she pricked it so often with her needle, but she didn't mind.

They had been saving up their money and planning a small Christmas Eve dinner with a few of Feuilly's comrades from the Friends of the ABC: Courfeyrac, Joly, and Combeferre. The gathering would be held at Combeferre's house, and everyone would bring something to contribute.

The shop was busy during the holidays, and Eponine had plenty to do. The days seemed to fly past in a whirl of people and working on Feuilly's present, and the evenings were spent drowsily holding each other in Feuilly's living room, simply enjoying each other's company.

Eponine was up late on the 23rd, finishing Feuilly's present by candlelight. Her eyes ached and her finger was swollen when she finished, but the handkerchief was done and as fine as one in the pocket of any Paris gentlemen. She was quite proud of her work and fell into bed, exhausted.

She savored sleeping in late the next morning, and rose reluctantly, wrapping herself in Feuilly's old coat, to journey to her father's inn. She had a gift for her sister. It was the time of day when Azelma had to sweep the yard. It had been her chore since their servant girl had gone away.

It was a beautiful day, with blue skies and sunlight that made the snow sparkle. Eponine blinked as she stepped out of her door. The street was busy with people and carriages, calling out to each other, hurrying to the houses where they would spend Christmas. A year before, she had found this to be a depressing sight, and had envied those people. But now she was happy and content, and hummed a Christmas-y tune as she walked along, carrying a basket for a few things she needed to buy and Azelma's present.

" 'Zelma!" Eponine called as she got closer. Azelma looked up, blinking at her sister.

"Who are you? And 'ow do you know me name?" she demanded. Eponine laughed.

"Don't you know your own sister, 'Zelma?"

" 'Ponine! Is that you?" Azelma asked, dropping her broom in surprise as Eponine hugged her.

"Of course it's me! Who else calls you 'Zelma?"

"No one, I guess. Look at your dress! You look like a fine lady! Where 'ave you been?"

"I have a job now," Eponine said proudly, "working at a book shop. And a house of my own."

"Workin' at a book shop? That's not what Papa says," Azelma replied, her eyes big, " 'E says that you're a mistress for some rich student, an' I'm not to speak to you. 'E says you're a bad influence."

"You mustn't believe him! I'm earning my own way, honestly. I'm nobody's mistress."

"But 'Parnasse says-" Azelma began.

"Shhh. Don't talk about him to me. Don't ever say his name!"

"Why? 'E's been ever so kind to me since you ran off. I think…I might be in love with 'im."

"No, 'Zelma, you can't! He's a bad man!"

"AZELMA!" Therandier bellowed from inside, "Ain't you finished sweepin' yet? I need you inside!"

"Coming, Papa!" Azelma called, giving Eponine a quick hug. Eponine shoved the present into her hands.

"Here. _Joyeux noel_, 'Zelma!"

"_Joyeux noel_, 'Ponine."

"I'll try and come back to see you soon. Stay away from 'Parnasse. Goodbye," Eponine called as she hurried off, keeping her head down in case Therandier decided to come outside. She bumped into someone and the contents of her basket spilled out into the snow.

"Oh, I am sorry mademoiselle!" the man she had run into cried, bending down and offering her his hand. She took it and he helped her up, and she began brushing snow off her dress. The man was studying her.

"Eponine?"

"Hmmm?" she looked at his face for the first time and went pale. It was Marius.


	14. Christmas

**Ack. So this will be the last chapter until at least Monday – I'm going home for the weekend, to ride this new horse my dad got, just in case she decides to throw some tricks after a 2-day trailer ride.**

"M-Monsieur Marius," Eponine stammered, tacking the first word on out of habit. Marius frowned at her and grabbed her arm.

"Where's your keeper?" he demanded.

"My keeper?"

"That young man who took you home the last time I saw you. You shouldn't be out alone," he said, making an attempt to be kind. Eponine looked at him.

"Alone? Why shouldn't I be out alone?"

"Oh, well…in your condition," he said awkwardly, clearing his throat. Realization dawned upon Eponine. Marius thought that she was crazy! He had actually believed Montparnasse. She wrenched her arm free of his grasp.

"I'm _not_ crazy, Monsieur Marius," she said defiantly, anger burning through her, "and the man that told you that was part of the gang that tried to rob your precious Cosette's house. I saved you both." She laughed bitterly.

"You _are_ mad," Marius said, "and where did you get that nice dress? I'll bet you stole it, you wretch! Come on, I'm taking you back to your father's inn."

Eponine howled with laughter now, but a few tears escaped the corners of her eyes and trickled down her cheeks.

"For all your years of schooling, you're terribly dumb!" she sang out. Marius attempted to grab her again, but she dodged and fled, dashing away down the street. He watched her go, shaking his head.

Eponine arrived at Feuilly's house a few minutes later, her cheeks bright splashes of pink on her pale face, and her chest heaving up and down. Tears were frozen on her cheeks.

"Eponine! What happened to you?" Feuilly asked, taking her gently by the shoulders.

"I ran into Monsieur Marius," she said softly, "and he treated me terribly."

"What did he do to you?" Feuilly demanded, rage filling him. Eponine laughed, a terrible sound through her tears,

" 'E said that I was mad! 'Magine that…'e believed 'Parnasse! An' then – then he accused me of stealing me dress!" she cried, unconsciously slipping back into her old way of speaking.

"Oh, _chère,_" he soothed, seating her by the sofa and putting an arm around her shoulders, "do you truly care what Pontmercy says?"

"No!" she said defiantly, her chin jutting up. Feuilly caught it between a thumb and a forefinger and guided her lips to his, kissing her.

"You mustn't let him bother you, 'Ponine. He's upset you so that you're speaking like a street girl again. You can't let him do this to you."

"I-I won't," she said bravely, taking a deep breath and forcing a small smile. Feuilly returned it and kissed her on the forehead, then looked into her eyes.

"I love you, _chère,_" he said softly. Eponine let out a soft little gasp. Oh, she had known, and she was in love with him too. But hearing those words come from someone's lips…it was more than she had ever dreamed of.

"I love you too," she replied, with a real smile this time, kissing him. Feuilly put his arms around her waist and held her close, kissing her cheek, her temple, the top of her head, wherever his lips could reach. She was laughing, and so was he. Eponine had forgotten Marius.

After what could have been a lifetime or a second passed, the pair stood. Eponine went to the kitchen to prepare plum pudding for their Christmas Eve get together, and Feuilly hovered close, reading and watching her bustle about out of the corner of his eye.

It was twilight when they readied themselves to leave Feuilly's house, and the temperature was dropping rapidly. Eponine dressed in Feuilly's old coat as usual, and he brought out a warm scarf, wrapping it around her neck and the lower part of her face, so that only her eyes showed. He also found a cap which he placed on her head carefully, so not to disturb her hairstyle, which she was becoming quite adept at, and gave her one of his gloves.

"You'll have to keep the other hand in your pocket," he said, "I've only got one pair."

Eponine smiled and compromised by slipping her bare hand into his.

"Now we'll keep each other warm," she said cheerfully, pulling him out the door. He laughed and grabbed the dish of pudding. They set off down the street, walking briskly and chatting happily despite the bitter wind that blew in their faces.

They were shivering when they arrived at Combeferre's, but he had a roaring fire in the parlor and dining room, and they thawed out quickly. Joly greeted Eponine politely, and she was introduced to Combeferre and Courfeyrac. Joly's lady friend, Musichetta, was also in attendance, and she seemed to take kindly to Eponine, especially after learning that she worked in a book shop.

Musichetta loved books, and she and Eponine bustled about the kitchen, putting the last touches on dinner and chatting about novels they had read, hadn't read, or wished to read. Their conversation made dinner come to the table a little slower, but soon the two women were bringing platters of hot food to the table.

There was a small turkey with cranberries and stuffing, and wine and ale to drink, with hot cider to go with the plum pudding after the meal. The group of young people ate until they were stuffed, and then ate dessert and sat around the fire, talking contentedly.

Musichetta and Eponine sat on pillows at Joly and Feuilly's feet, discussing books again, hardly noticing the lack of chairs, as they were closest to the crackling fire. It was a perfect moment, and Eponine wished that it could be frozen in time. She was warm and content, surrounded by the first friends she'd had in her life, and the man that she adored. She couldn't have been happier.

But all good things come to an end far too soon, and before Eponine knew it she was yawning sleepily as Feuilly wrapped his scarf around her neck, bundling her up for the walk home, and they were walking down the street.

"Why don't you stay with me tonight, 'Ponine?" Feuilly asked, "That way we can be up early tomorrow to exchange presents."

Too sleepy to argue, she nodded, and was soon fast asleep in his bed. He kissed her temple, not regretting for a second that he would have a sore back on Christmas Day, and bedded down on the couch, falling asleep instantly.

" 'Ponine."

"Mmmm?" she rolled over, her cheeks pink with sleep and warmth, blinking in the light as he opened the window shade and sat down.

"It's Christmas morning, _chère._ Open your present."

"Mmmm," she blinked sleepily and pulled the blanket over her head. Feuilly pulled it off playfully and peppered her face with tender little kisses from his seat on the end of the bed.

"Up, _chère_! Sit up!"

"Oh _fine_," she groaned, playfully batting at him with her hand and slowly sitting up, "but you must open yours first.

She reached into the pocket of her coat and pulled out the gift, wrapped in red paper and tied with a bit of string, placing it in Feuilly's lap. He untied the string and tore off the paper, revealing the blue silk of the handkerchief. Eponine bounced in excitement,

"Look at the corner! I did it myself!" she cried. He did as she instructed, and smiled.

"My initials. It's perfect, 'Ponine." He leaned over and gave her a kiss, and she beamed at him as he set the box containing her present into her lap. It was wrapped in shiny green paper, which she tore off carefully.

There were two things inside; the first was a fan with a portrait of Eponine that Feuilly had painted. She was laughing, and her hair was loose around her shoulders. Her name was painted in pretty script across the bottom. The second was a heart-shaped locket that was gold colored and engraved with flowers, and had a cameo head in the middle, carved from shell. Inside, there was an impossibly tiny painting of clasped hands, with their names above that Feuilly had painted.

"Oh, thank you, Feuilly! They're beautiful!" Eponine looked at her presents delightedly, her smile wide. Feuilly laughed and kissed her, helping her fasten the locket around her neck, then took her into his arms and held her.

Feuilly's stomach growled, prompting the pair to go into the kitchen for a quick lunch, and then they sat together, Eponine in his arms. He kissed the top of her head,

"Was it a good Christmas, _chère_?"

"The best Christmas ever," she said softly, leaning her head on his shoulder and blinking sleepily.

**Ack corny ending! Made myself gag a bit…but it's cute riiiiight? **

**Oh, and if you want to see the necklace that I modeled Eponine's Christmas gift after, it's here: ****.****. Nope, I don't own it. Just thought it was pretty!**

**All right, I'll be back Monday…until then, click review, click review!**


	15. The Fight

**Sooo, the idea for this chapter came from Eponineluvr4eva1 – thanks for the inspiration!**

**Feuilly's a badass!**

**Hope you like it!**

The rest of December seemed to fly by. New Year's Eve was spent at the café Musain, with drunken singing and dancing on tables. Feuilly talked with Courfeyrac and Combeferre, while Eponine sat quietly in the corner for most of it, chatting with Musichetta and sipping a small glass of wine.

Before the pair knew it, January and February had passed, and March was coming in like a lamb, with pleasant warm winds that melted the last of the snow. Eponine and Feuilly took advantage of the longer days, taking walks on warm evenings that became more and more pleasant as March neared its end.

Feuilly had been saving money at every opportunity, and had almost enough to purchase an engagement ring for Eponine. Whenever he thought of it, which was often, his stomach would twist with nerves and he would glance over at her face, trying to picture what the scene would be like when he proposed.

He was lost in one such reverie as they walked through the park one evening, watching Eponine closely, when her nose wrinkled and her face took on an expression of severe distaste. He panicked for a moment, and then separated fantasy from reality and followed her gaze.

Marius and Cosette were seated on a bench up ahead on the path, wrapped around each other in an almost vulgar embrace. Eponine turned away from the spectacle and kept walking, her head held high.

"We can turn around, you know," Feuilly said quietly. She shook her head.

"No. This is my favorite path to walk on and I won't let them ruin it," she said stubbornly, but tightened her grip on his arm nervously as they neared the pair.

"Feuilly!" Marius cried, looking up at the most inopportune of moments and striding toward them. Feuilly groaned to himself, and gingerly shook Marius' hand.

"How have you been?" Marius asked, "Still hanging around Enjolras and his crazy political gang?"

"Yes," Feuilly replied stiffly, not caring to elaborate. Cosette stood from the bench and came up behind Marius, staring at Eponine as Marius forced small talk.

"Where did you get that locket?" Cosette asked suddenly, making everyone turn to her in surprise. Marius seemed to recognize Eponine, and frowned,

"Feuilly, what are you doing with this crazy girl?"

"Eponine is my dearest friend," Feuilly replied coldly. Cosette spoke again,

"Where did you get that locket?"

"Feuilly gave it to me for Christmas," Eponine said standoffishly, her eyes daring the other girl to inquire otherwise.

"What is it, darling?" Marius asked, "If you like it, we can buy you one." Cosette shook her head.

"My mother had a locket, a gold one like that. I remember playing with it when I was very young. I asked Papa about it, but he never knew where it had gone."

"Eponine, did you steal that locket?" Marius demanded. Feuilly interjected,

"I traded a portrait for it, Marius. An old lady who sells jewelry on the corner near where I live offered me any of her pieces if I would do a painting of her."

"Don't lie for her, Feuilly," Marius said angrily, "I see she's got you convinced that she's an angel, same as she had that other man who was trying to help her a few months ago. We caught her screaming in the street and he was kind enough to try and save her, and take her away, and she bit and kicked him as thanks. Now she's stealing. Don't be caught up in her lies."

"Her lies? Do you know what that man did to her?" Feuilly asked, the color rising in his face.

"How should I know? She probably got what was coming to her, the thieving little sneak!"

"Gave her what she deserved? Do you know what he did to her?" Feuilly shouted.

"I don't particularly care. She stole that locket, and I'll have it back!" Marius advanced threateningly toward Eponine, fists clenched.

"Give it to me, you little wretch! Or I'll take it from you."

Eponine backed away, eyes wide, and Feuilly's landed a punch on Marius' jaw, and Marius threw a return jab that would later result in a black eye. While Feuilly was still dazed, Marius grabbed him around the waist, throwing him to the ground. Feuilly grabbed Marius' jacket and pulled him down hard, knocking the wind out of him and taking advantage of the distraction to drill a fist into his stomach.

Eponine and Cosette watched the pair wrestle on the ground, horrified. Cosette looked around frantically.

"I'm going to get a policeman!" Cosette cried, turning and running away.

"Oh, no you don't!" Eponine shouted, streaking after her. She caught up to Cosette easily, grabbing her by the back of the collar and hauling her back to the scene of the fight. Cosette was taller and easily outweighed Eponine, but she couldn't free herself.

Feuilly, sporting a black eye and a bloody lip, was pinning Marius to the ground. The latter had a bruise blooming on his jaw and a bloody nose, and lay on his stomach with his arms behind his back.

"Let her go!" Marius said to Eponine, as Cosette struggled to get away from Eponine. Feuilly wrenched one of his arms.

"Apologize to Eponine!"

"Apologize for what?"

"For being rude and ungentlemanly to a lady. For leaving her to the scum of Paris so that he could have his way with her. You could have killed her!" Feuilly wrenched the arm again, and Marius groaned.

"All right! I'm sorry, Eponine! Now let Cosette go."

Eponine waited for Feuilly to nod before she released Cosette's collar.

"Don't you _ever_ speak like that to Eponine again. Or I won't be so kind. Do you hear me?" Feuilly growled. Marius nodded, and Feuilly got off him. No words were exchanged as the four parted ways, and little was said on Eponine and Feuilly's brisk walk home.

They arrived at Feuilly's house and Eponine ran to wet some cloths.

"Sit down," she said gently, "you're a mess. Put this cold cloth on your eye."

Feuilly did as he was told, and Eponine began dabbing carefully at his lip, wiping the blood from his chin.

"Oh, Feuilly," she sighed as she cleaned him up, "you didn't have to do that for me."

"But he insulted you, _chère_," he said thickly, "I couldn't just stand by and let him."

Eponine smiled tenderly and kissed his forehead, brushing a few strands of hair out of his sweaty face and going to rummage through a cabinet for some witch hazel.

"Well, thank you," she said softly, "this might sting a bit." She dabbed the witch hazel onto his cut lip, which burned fiercely, but he never flinched.

"You won't be able to smile for a few days, poor thing."

"Who would have guessed that Marius could throw a punch?" he asked playfully, making Eponine laugh.

"I thought that little girl of his was going to cry," she said, "I thought about trying to get in a hit of my own on her, but I was afraid that it would just make things worse for you. And I've no quarrel with her. I did pull her hair a bit, though," she said mischeviously.

"You're terrible," Feuilly teased, ruffling Eponine's hair. Eponine pretended to be offended, but dropped the lightest of kisses on his lips. He winced, and groaned.

"You mean I can't even kiss you, _chère_?"

"I'm sure it will go away soon," Eponine soothed, kissing the top of his head, "I love you, Feuilly."

"I love you too, 'Ponine."

"Oh, it's dark. I've got to go. Keep a cool cloth on your eye, all right? I'll see you tomorrow."

She blew him a kiss off her fingertips as she went out the door.


	16. Grantaire Surprised

**So I tried to take the classic "Oh em gee, you made a bet about me/fell in love with me/now I hate you" and change it up completely. Hope you like it!**

The swelling in Feuilly's lip went down quickly, but the cut was slower to heal, and the black eye seemed to be stubbornly staying as well. He had hoped that it would all go away before the next Friends of the ABC meeting, but he still had them as he entered the Café Musain for the first April meeting of the Friends of the ABC.

Joly's jaw nearly hit the floor, and he leapt up , charging toward Feuilly.

"What happened to you?" he cried. Feuilly groaned.

"I got in a fight," he said. Courfeyrac raised an eyebrow from where he lounged nearby, his feet on the table.

"Feuilly? In a fight? With who?"

"Marius," Feuilly muttered.

"Pontmercy?" Courfeyrac prodded. Feuilly nodded, feeling the tips of his ears turn red. Joly's eyes got big and he backed away.

"I think you've got gangrene. Oh, and I've got an open cut on my hand!" he scurried to the far corner and Feuilly sat down next to Courfeyrac and Combeferre.

"Pontmercy eh? What happened?" Combeferre asked, looking up from a thick book to peer over his glasses at Feuilly's battle wounds.

"He…he insulted Eponine," Feuilly said stiffly.

"Oh ho!" Courfeyrac cried, "The brave knight saved his lady fair!"

"Maybe we should get you a white steed," Combeferre suggested mildly. Feuilly shot them dirty looks.

"Did you at least win?" Courfeyrac asked.

"Yes," Feuilly replied, "and he apologized for being so rude."

"You should have made him apologize for being a Bonapartist as well!" Combeferre cried, making Courfeyrac chuckle.

"Feuilly is hardly thinking of such trivial things as politics when he's fighting for his lady fair. You're the well-read one, Combeferre, I would expect you to know all about fairy-tales."

"I hardly concern myself with such drivel," Combeferre said, looking affronted.

"Combeferre!" Courfeyrac scolded, "How dare you call Feuilly's life drivel?"

"Enough!" Feuilly shouted, grabbing a hunk of bread and flinging it at Courfeyrac, who ducked, grinning. The bread hit Grantaire in the back of the head and he looked around hazily. Feuilly decided that it had been a worthwhile use of the food and looked around for something else to throw.

"All right, all right! _Je renounce_!" Courfeyrac said, holding his hands up in a gesture of surrender.

"Say, why don't you bring Eponine to a meeting?" Combeferre asked, changing the subject.

"Why?"

"She's the epitome of what Enjolras wants for the poor. A street girl who's moved up in life, has her own place, and a job? _Les amis_ would eat it up."

"She's quite shy. I don't think she'd like it."

"She hung around here enough when she was in love with Pontmercy. Besides, you should collect on your bet from Grantaire. He's got to see her for you to prove it."

"Well…I don't want her to know about it," Feuilly explained uneasily.

"Ooooh, the plot thickens," Combeferre said.

"Come on, Feuilly, bring her by. I found her quite charming at Christmas and New Years', and I've not seen her since."

"You stay away from her, Courferyac! I've heard enough of your tales of womanizing to know not to leave her alone with you."

"You insult me,mon_ ami_. I know enough to stay away from a girl who has a suitor. Although she is quite pretty," he added mischeviously, "Just bring her. I want to see Grantaire have to part with his alcohol money. I think it will be _tres amusant._"

"All right, all right. I'll have her stop by at the next meeting."

"Fantastic," Courfeyrac said with a grin, "I'll go and tell Enjolras."

A week later, Feuilly walked into the café with Eponine on his arm. Courfeyrac grinned and elbowed Combeferre, who whistled to get Enjolras' attention. The leader's face lit up, and he made his way over to them.

"Eponine, this is Enjolras. Enjolras, meet Eponine," Feuilly said dryly. Enjolras politely shook Eponine's hand, and proceeded to drag her up to the front of the room, calling for the attention of _les amis._ Feuilly groaned. He'd been afraid of that.

"_Mon amis!_" Enjolras called, "I would like to introduce you to Eponine, who is a symbol for the poor of not only Paris, but the world!"

Eponine was staring at him with her mouth hanging open, her cheeks turning pink.

"And our own Feuilly helped her become so! The Teacher of Justice has truly shown us the merit of the working man. He apprenticed this poor girl, although she was little but a street rat, and helped her learn the more genteel ways of society, and now she works in a book shop! She has an honest job, and her own flat. This, _mon amis_, is our goal for the poor of Paris!"

Eponine was bright red now, and Combeferre and Courfeyrac were chortling loudly in the back. Grantaire, realizing that he was five francs poorer, had unwisely smashed the bottle containing the rest of his brandy against the wall, and Joly could be heard whispering loudly to Bahorel that Eponine's coloring was definitely _not_ normal, that she should be avoided at all costs, and that he would just hate to see the color of her tongue. His guess was that it would be purple, no green. Perhaps a mottling of the two.

Enjolras finished his soliloquy and released Eponine, who rushed to Feuilly's side.

"You didn't tell me he was going to do that!" she said, fanning her hot face.

"I'm sorry, _chère._ I thought that he would warn you before he pulled you up there."

Grantaire stumbled up, and tossed Feuilly five francs.

"There y'go," he grumbled. Eponine looked at Feuilly curiously.

"It's just a bet I won. It's nothing, really," Feuilly said airily.

"I bet'm he couldn't turn you into a lady," Grantaire slurred, grinning wickedly. Then several things happened at once. Feuilly began to apologize, Courfeyrac and Combeferre burst in with explanations to save their friend, and perhaps most surprising of all, Eponine slapped Grantaire across the face, which caused him to stagger backward and the others to stop talking.

"Wh-wha' was that for?" Grantaire cried indignantly.

"For making such a horrible bet about a lady. I may not have been able to afford fancy clothes and perfumes, but I've been a lady all along. How dare you!" Eponine returned, her cheeks bright pink and her head high.

"B-but…Feuilly went along with it!" he stammered.

"Yes, well," Eponine seemed at a loss, "he'll use the money for good, not for brandy!"

Shocked, Grantaire stumbled to the other end of the room in search of more brandy. Combeferre was smiling with amusement.

"Well, your speech has certainly improved since we first met, Eponine. You have learned much from your reading," he said.

"I…" she blushed.

"What?" he asked.

"Well I…I sort of…stole what I just said. From a book. I just changed the words a bit to make it fit what had happened."

Courfeyrac threw back his head and burst into peals of laughter, and Combeferre chuckled, bowing to Eponine.

"You have mastered the art of reading," he said, his eyes sparkling in amusement, "and you are welcome to come and look through my library anytime."

Feuilly wrapped his arms around Eponine and kissed the top of her head.

"Ah, _mon_ _chère_," he chuckled as _les amis_ dissipated, "you are _tres amusant._"

"Well, I couldn't just stand there and let him mock me," she said, grinning coyly.

"Indeed you could not, Mademoiselle Eponine," he said, offering his arm. She took it and the two went out the door into the mild April night.


	17. Azelma

**Ack! Sooo sorry for the lack of updates guys! There was the civil war football game between University of Montana and Montana State – we killed MSU – and Thanksgiving plans…I've been super busy. Also, writer's block picked a bad time. But I've had a 17 hour car ride to think things over.**

**And again, I'm trying not to rush things too fast, but I'm trying to put action in as well.**

**Anyway, Happy [belated] Thanksgiving everyone! Enjoy!**

The end of April was rainy and chilly, but May bloomed in all her glory, warm and inviting. The days were longer, and the nights mild. Eponine often sat at the window of her tiny apartment, awake late and looking out the window instead of reading the book in her lap. She didn't miss her old life at all, but sometimes she got an urge to wander at night, like she had when night was her time.

Eponine kept telling herself that it was silly, that she did her wanderings with the man she loved in the daytime. She didn't have to sneak out at night to dream. She was practically living a fairytale. And yet the night seemed so inviting. Maybe she would go out, just this once.

She went quietly out the door and down the steps, automatically adopting the stance of a gamin, shoulders hunched, head down as she shuffled along. Her feet took her here and there, to old familiar haunts. Suddenly, a young girl jumped out, a small knife in her hand.

" 'Ey you! Give me your money!" she cried out. Her voice was vaguely familiar, and her hand trembled. Eponine smiled a little.

"You never were good at stealing, 'Zelma."

" 'Ponine? Is that you?" Azelma asked, nearly dropping the knife. Eponine embraced her.

"How have you been?"

"Not good a'tall. Mama and Papa lost the Inn, an' Mama's in jail."

"What? Where are you living, 'Zelma?"

"With 'Parnasse," Azelma said happily. Eponine grabbed her by the shoulders.

"Azelma, I told you to stay away from him!"

"What was I s'posed to do, 'Ponine?" Azelma whined, "Mama's in jail and Papa took off. 'Parnasse found me an' took me in. 'S not like I could find you easy."

"Well, you've found me now," Eponine said briskly, "and you'll come home with me. To live."

"No!" Azelma shook her head violently, "I'm staying with 'Parnasse. I love him! And 'e loves me!"

"He doesn't!" Eponine cried, "And you'll do as you're told!"

"You ain't the boss of me, 'Ponine. You ran off an' left me. 'Parnasse took care of me. An' I won't betray him. We're gonna get married, 'e says, when we get enough money."

"He's lying to you," Eponine said through clenched teeth. Azelma slapped her.

"Don't you ever talk like that about 'im again! Get away from me, 'Ponine! I 'ope I never see you again!" she ran off into the night. Eponine stood frozen, tears gathering in her eyes. They spilled down her cheeks as she turned slowly and made her way home.

Eponine never told Feuilly about the incident, afraid that he would worry or scold her for being so silly as to go out at night. She managed to keep her spirits up, but he noticed that whenever she saw a female gamin, her eyes would follow the girl. When he asked her about it, she would reply that she missed her sister and refuse to say any more.

Meanwhile, Enjolras was getting more and more fiery at the café Musain. The warmer weather seemed to stoke the fire of revolution within him, and he was making more and more preparations and plans for the barricade. It was only a matter of time, Feuilly knew, until the blasted thing was erected.

Although the idea of a grand revolution stirred Feuilly's blood in a way that even Eponine could not, he was beginning to fear it. The Friends of the ABC were few, and no one was sure how many Parisians would rally around them. And there was more at stake now. Before, he was a street rat, known only by the men who he would fight with. If he died, it would be in the name of the people, of revolution. But what would become of Eponine? The question haunted him.

Feuilly had finally saved up enough to buy a ring, a little thing with a chip of diamond in it, but he had yet to present it to Eponine. He feared leaving her a widow, doomed to be without love all of her life. And the romantic in him wanted to wait until the perfect moment, to sweep her off her feet. He was awake many a night pondering on the topic, and took to keeping the ring with him at all times, telling himself that the perfect moment would come soon enough, and that love was a thing that couldn't be rushed.

But the little piece of jewelry in his pocket was to Feuilly as a toy unplayed with was to a small child. Whenever he was with Eponine, his hand would drift to his pocket, and he would long to drop to one knee and put it on her finger. Sometimes he thought that he must propose or he would burst.

On the last day of May, Eponine surprised Feuilly around noon, with a picnic that she brought to him as he painted.

"They let me go early, it's Madame's birthday," she explained, "let's take a walk into the country, where we've always wanted to go. Please?"

It was a beautiful day, and Eponine looked so excited that he couldn't say no. He smiled and gave her a kiss.

"All right, _chère_. Just let me pack my things, and we'll be on our way."

They stopped by Feuilly's house to drop off his painting supplies, and set off down the road out of Paris. Eponine frolicked like a child, attempting to pick every flower she saw.

"Eponine, why don't you wait until the walk home, so that they don't wilt?" Feuilly asked, smiling. Eponine stopped, her hands full of a bouquet that consisted of mostly weeds that grew along the roadside.

"But what will I do with these?" she asked, "I can't just leave them."

"They're just weeds," he said patiently, "we'll find you prettier flowers, real ones."

"I was just a street girl," she returned cleverly, "you could have found someone prettier, and richer. So if you can keep me, I can keep my flowers." And she set off down the road, stopping to add a dandelion on her collection.

Feuilly smiled, swelling with pride and love for her. She had never looked lovlier, he decided, as today, in her white cotton dress, with a pink morning glory stuck behind her ear. He followed her patiently, until they found the perfect spot for a picnic. A little road split off from the main one, and crossed a bridge over a sparkling stream. On either side of the bridge was soft green grass filled with dandelions.

Feuilly set the basket down, and caught Eponine before she plopped down into the inviting grass and stained her dress.

"Sit on the blanket, _chère_. You'll stain your dress." he reminded gently. She waited while he spread the blanket on the ground, then sat and began spreading the lunch of cold meats, bread, and cheese she had brought.

"I was going to get wine, but it's expensive and I didn't know what kind you would like," she explained.

"We don't need wine," Feuilly replied. Being around Eponine today was intoxicating enough. She wasn't classically beautiful, like the blonde haired porcelain dolls that Courfeyrac liked to chase, nor the coy little brunette that Joly loved so. Her hair was an odd shade of auburn, but it shone in the sunlight like copper, and her nose was a bit crooked due to a childhood accident, and her teeth were in horrible shape, but Feuilly wanted no other.

Perhaps it was her new dresses, or that she was clean and well-groomed, or perhaps it was even her newfound confidence, Feuilly had noticed many gentlemen looking at her recently. It caused him an odd feeling, both of pride and of jealousy, and he was as protective of her as ever, thankful for her naiveté in the area of romance.

Just as he was pondering on this concept, a buggy full of young men rolled across the bridge. They spotted Eponine, and one whistled at her. Feuilly, who was sitting in the shade of the bridge, went unnoticed.

"Hey pretty girl, what are you doing all alone out here?" one called out to her. Eponine looked at him wide-eyed, and didn't answer.

"Do you need a ride back into town?" the bold young lad asked. Eponine shook her head, looking at Feuilly. He stood.

"Gentleman, I assure you that the lady is in good hands. You may go on your way now," he said, sounding much calmer than he felt. The boy looked startled, and the carriage rolled on. Feuilly sat down again, a surge of anger and frustration rising in him at the mental picture of Eponine with another man.

"What's wrong?" Eponine asked him. She had, in her sweet innocence, passed the event off as nothing more than a boy offering her a ride.

"Oh, 'Ponine," Feuilly said, the anger subsiding into tenderness. He took her hand in his and kissed it,

"I'm just a bit jealous, that's all."

"Jealous? Why?" she asked, laughing and kissing his cheek playfully.

"Because…of the way they looked at you, _chère.____ They wanted to take you from me."_

_"__Well, I wouldn't let them!" Eponine said, putting her chin out defiantly. Feuilly smiled and kissed her, and they returned to their meal. Afterward, he leaned against the bridge, and she lay with her head in his lap. He stroked her hair, still trying to rid himself of the image of Eponine with another man. His thoughts were racing. _

_"__Eponine," Feuilly said abruptly, "stand up."_

_"__Why? Do I have an ant on me?" she asked, jumping to her feet and brushing at her skirts. Feuilly's stomach lurched, and his heart was beating very fast as he got up onto one knee. He had never been more sure of anything in his life as he was of this. He wanted Eponine with him, to be his. It was now or never._


	18. Wedding Plans and Riots

**On a plane from Denver to Billings. Ack. Also, I have a final paper due Monday and finals are next week, so chapters will be slow until break.**

**Enjoy!**

Feuilly's hand fumbled in his pocket, and his fingers closed around that familiar little box. His heart was hammering so loud now, he had no idea how Eponine wasn't covering her ears.

"What are you doing?" Eponine asked, smiling down at him.

"I…Eponinewillyoumarryme?" he blurted out.

"What?"

"Eponine," he took a deep breath, "would you marry me, _ma __chère_?" he pulled the box containing the ring from his pocket and opened it. Eponine's jaw dropped, and her cheeks turned pink. She opened and closed her mouth several times, before bobbing her head up and down and dropping to her knees to kiss him.

"Y-yes!" she finally managed. Feuilly hardly remembered to slip the ring onto her finger before leaping up and catching her around the waist, kissing her as he swung her in a circle. When he set her down, they were both laughing, and there were tears on her cheeks. Feuilly wiped them away.

"I do hope that those are tears of happiness."

"Yes, of course! Oh, Feuilly, I'm so happy."

The sun was setting, and the couple sat on the blanket. Feuilly held Eponine close as they watched the fiery ball dip below the horizon, leaving the countryside in purple dusk.

"We should probably get home," Feuilly finally said reluctantly. Eponine nodded, yawning, and took his arm as they went down the lane.

"So when shall we plan the wedding for, _chère_?" he asked as they neared town.

"Fall," she said, "it's my favorite season. September, I think."

"Your favorite season? Why is that?"

"Because it's when I met you," she said simply. He smiled and kissed the top of her head.

"September it is."

They wandered home slowly in the dusk, and bid each other reluctant goodbyes.

"All right, who bet on September?" Feuilly called, as he practically danced into the café Musain a few days later. All of _les amis_ looked at him blankly for a second, but then Courfeyrac whooped and ran over to slap him on the back. Everyone seemed to understand then, and Grantaire slammed his fist down on the table.

"Damnit! I'm never betting again!" he cried, "It cuts into my brandy money!"

All of _les amis_ gathered around Feuilly, clapping him on the back and shaking his hand heartily and demanding invitations to the wedding. Courfeyrac went around cheerfully, collecting money from everyone, who grumbled and paid up.

Enjolras had more trouble than usual calling the Friends of the ABC to order that night, and was quite grumpy, thinking to himself that this loss of the bet was just another proof that romance was a silly waste of time and money.

Feuilly barely heard Enjolras' impassioned speech. All of his worries of the barricade had fled, and seemed trivial. What did it matter now? He was going to marry Eponine, and his fairytale was going to come true.

Meanwhile, Musichetta knocked on Eponine's door. The pair had taken to meeting on the same night as the Friends of the ABC, to sew together or discuss books over tea and cakes. Musichetta heard Eponine yelp and something drop to the floor, and footsteps coming toward the door.

"Oh, hello Musichetta," Eponine said, "do come in."

"Why did you cry out when I knocked? Did I surprise you that much?" Musichetta asked.

"Oh, no. I've just been a bit distracted, that's all. Musichetta, I need your help."

"Oh? What for?"

"Well…with my wedding," Eponine admitted shyly. Musichetta shrieked and hugged her.

"Feuilly proposed? Oh, Eponine! I'm so happy for you!"

"Thank you," Eponine smiled and went into the kitchen to put on tea. She returned with some mending and sat down,

"I'm just so scared, Musichetta! I've never even been to a wedding before. I don't know about dresses, or flowers, or anything to do with weddings!"

"Don't worry, I'll help," Musichetta said confidently, "when is the wedding?"

"Well…not till September."

"Then we have plenty of time! Next week I'll bring over my book of patterns, and we'll find one for your dress. That will be the thing that will take the longest, I think. What kind of flowers do you like best? Roses are traditional for weddings. What is your favorite color?" Musichetta rambled on, not giving Eponine time to speak.

"Musichetta!" Eponine cried, laughing, "You've asked me about a hundred questions, but not given me time to answer one!"

"Oh!" Musichetta laughed and blushed, "I'm just so excited for you! I want to make it a beautiful wedding. I'll slow down."

Musichetta stayed very late, making plans and describing dress patterns to Eponine, who was exhausted the next day, and went to bed early, not staying with Feuilly long.

The next day, Eponine was putting a few new books on the shelf when she heard gunshots. A young man, a student, burst into the shop.

"Mademoiselle, have you got any weapons?"

"Weapons? No, monsieur. Wipe your boots please, you're getting mud on the carpet."

"Mud? Mademoiselle, how can you care about the mud on the carpet? Don't you know what is happening outside?"

"No," Eponine replied.

"A riot! General Lamarque has died, and the people are rising up against the bourgeois! If you have no weapons, I must go and seek them elsewhere."

Eponine had dropped the book that she held.

"I must go. Goodbye!" and the boy ran out into the street. Eponine stared out after him, and a memory came into her head of a fiery speech. Enjolras, the time she had gone to the meeting at the café Musain. He had spoken of rising up against the bourgeois. Could this be his revolution? Was Feuilly out there?

Her employer's wife came forward from the back of the shop.

"What was that all about, Eponine?"

"Th-the people are rioting! Oh, Madame, I fear that my fiancé is with them! I must go seek him out!" Eponine cried. Through the window, she could see people beginning to flood the streets.

"Don't be foolish, my girl. You'll be trampled in that mob. Now you'd best lock the door before someone else comes in looking for weapons."

"I must go, Madame," Eponine said fervently, her face very pale and her eyes on the crowd outside, "Please!"

"What is this nonsense?" M. Berube said, coming from the back of the shop, "A riot outside? Those fools!"

"Please, monsieur! I'm sure that my fiancé is out there. I must find him!"

M. Berube was locking the doors.

"Go up to your room and try to read. I'm sure this will be over soon, Eponine," he said, trying to comfort the distressed girl.

Without a word, Eponine ran up to her room and unlocked her window, which opened out onto the roof. She stepped out and stood for a minute to watch the crowd below, before wrapping her arms and legs around the drainpipe and sliding down into the street.


	19. The Barricade Arrises

**Heh…two chapters in two days. Shows how hard I'm studying for finals…**

**Okay, so I have a question for y'all! **

**Should I keep it true to the book, and have Feuilly kick it, or should I go off the beaten path and let him live? Your decision! There's already one vote for Feuilly living, and I've got a plausible way to do it. I think. Or should 'Ponine die? Or should they both die? Ack.**

**Opinions please!**

Eponine pushed her way through the streets, getting bumped and jostled, but being careful to keep her feet, well aware of the fact that if she went down, she wouldn't make it back up before she was trampled by the feet of the rioters.

There were mostly men in the streets, although a few prostitutes waved at them from the corners by the docks, and some women straggled along with the rioters. She was on the verge of panic now, wondering if she should have stayed at the book shop and let Feuilly seek her out. The fear seemed to make her stronger, and she shoved past the students faster now.

"Long live Poland!" she heard someone cry. Feuilly's voice. Only he would call out about Poland when there was a riot in France. Eponine turned toward the voice and saw him, a naked sword in his hand, marching in front of a group of the ABC Friends.

"Feuilly!" she shouted, "Feuilly!"

He turned toward her, and his face registered first shock, and then anger. Eponine was soaked, her hair plastered to her face, which was very pale.

"Eponine! What are you doing out here? Go home, you'll be hurt!"

"No! I'm staying with you," she said stubbornly.

"You can't," he said, more gently now, "please, Eponine."

"I won't leave you!" she cried, stomping her foot. She knew it was childish, but she was so overwhelmed by everything around her that words had left her. A gunshot cracked overhead, and everyone jumped. A woman nearby screamed.

"Feuilly, we've got to go. Now!" Enjolras said sternly, "Let her come if she wishes."

"All right," Feuilly groaned, "Combeferre, toss her one of your pistols. I won't have you unarmed."

"Do you know how to use it?" Combeferre asked. Eponine shook her head.

"I'll teach you as we walk. Come along," he said, "it's really quite simple. This is the hammer, see. It's already loaded. All you've got to do is pull the hammer back and pull the trigger. Try to keep it out of the rain so that the powder doesn't get wet. Understand?"

"Yes," Eponine said breathlessly, taking the heavy weapon.

"To the barricades!" Enjolras cried.

"To the barricades!" a high-pitched, childish voice echoed. Eponine turned toward it, and let out a cry of horror.

"Gavroche! What are you doing here?"

"You know this urchin?" Courfeyrac asked.

"He's my brother!" Eponine said, "Go home, Gavroche."

"I thought 'Zelma told you, 'Ponine. We got no home. They took it away. I been livin' on the street."

"Then find somewhere safe!"

" I'm goin' to the barricades! An' you can't control me anymore than that man can control you!" Gavroche cried, banging at a shutter with the butt of a triggerless pistol he had picked up somewhere. Eponine looked pleadingly at Feuilly, but he was preoccupied with his march, bare sword held high.

The mob made its way down the Rue Saint-Denis, passing by the end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie.

"Courfeyrac! Courfeyrac! Hohee!" someone cried out from the other end of the Rue de la Chanvrerie. It was Bossuet, calling out to them.

"Where are you going?" Bossuet cried.

"To make a barricade!" Courfeyrac called back.

"Well, here! This is a good place! Make it here!"

"That is true," Courfeyrac replied, signaling the crowd to flood into the wine shop. Feuilly placed Eponine next to Joly at the window as the students constructed their barricade, unpaving the streets and piling up the paving-stones, wrenching iron bars from the front of the wine shop, and barrels of lime were flanked by empty winecasks.

Eponine watched Feuilly, with his hands that painted so delicately and beautifully, stack heaps of stone behind the barrels and casks. She hadn't seen where he had gotten them.

Meanwhile, Enjolras had delivered a speech to Grantaire that Eponine had not heard, but seemed to have an effect on the drunkard as if he would have had a glass of cold water thrown in his face. He stumbled to the table near Eponine and Joly, and laid his head down.

"Let me sleep here."

"Go and sleep somewhere else!" Enjolras cried. Grantaire fixed him with a sad gaze.

"Let me sleep here – until I die."

Eponine heard none of the rest of the conversation. She went pale, and her knees felt weak. Joly caught her just in time, producing smelling salts just in case.

"I'm fine," Eponine murmured, "that remark…it just surprised me."

"You must ignore him, Eponine," Joly said earnestly, "if you listen to him, you'll worry yourself to death."

She regained her feet and they stood together, looking upon the completed barricade. A red flag waved over it. Someone had drug a table out of the wine shop, and Courfeyrac stood on it, distributing cartridges. Eponine and Joly slowly made their way down, and accepted some. Feuilly took Eponine aside, showing her how to load both her pistol and a rifle that he had attained, just in case.

"Don't shoot the rifle if you can help it," he advised, "it'll break your shoulder."

"All right."

"See the little square on the end of the barrel?"

"Yes."

"When you're aiming, line that up with the notch in front of the hammer. Do you understand?"

"Yes. Feuilly?"

"Yes, 'Ponine?"

"I…will I have to shoot someone?" she asked timidly.

"I don't know 'Ponine," Feuilly replied tiredly, "I really wish you hadn't come, you know."

"I had to!" she began to cry, "I couldn't bear to stay at home and be afraid for you!"

"Oh, _ma chère_," he said tenderly, gathering her into his arms.

"Tell me everything will be all right. Please."

"I can't, _chère,_" he replied, with the air of one explaining something to a child, "I must fight for my country. Promise me something."

"Anything," she replied eagerly.

"If I should die," he put a finger to her lips as she sucked in a sharp breath, "I want you to promise me that you will go on with your life. You will continue to work at the book shop, and you will find another suitor."

"I can't-"

"_Promise me, Eponine,_" he said desperately, taking her by the shoulders. She nodded silently, tears streaming down her face. He kissed her passionately then, holding her close and stroking her hair until the tears stopped. Eponine took a deep breath.

"I saw some other women over there, doing something. Can I help them?"

"Of course, _ma chère._ They're making lint. I'm going to find a few of my friends, and speak to them."

She left, and Feuilly found his closest circle from the Friends of the ABC, Combeferre, Courfeyrac, Jean Prouvaire, Feuilly, Bossuet, Joly, Bahorel, and a few others. They took refuge in the wine shop, reciting love verses.

"_Mon ami_, promise me something," Feuilly burst out suddenly, looking distressed.

"What is it?" Combeferre asked.

"Promise me …if I should die for our cause, take care of Eponine. I fear for her if she is alone."

"Of course, Feuilly," Combeferre replied. Outside, someone had lit a lamp, and a wax torch. It illuminated the scarlet flag with an awful purple color, which made Feuilly's stomach turn in a most unpleasant sensation.

**Click review, click review! Let me know if you want Feuilly to live or die!**


	20. On The Barricade

**Thanks for the advice! This chapter seems awkward to me…maybe because I stuck closer to the real book text than usual. Also, I'm bad at fights/battles. **

**Meh. Enjoy!**

**Disclaimer: Don't own the lullaby or the direct quotes from the book.**

Eponine came back into the wine shop to find Gavroche on the floor. He seemed to be daydreaming about something.

"Gavroche, what are you doing here?" Eponine asked, kneeling by her brother.

"Gettin' ready to fight, 'Ponine," he said.

"You're too little. Why don't you run home?"

"We don't have an 'ome, remember? I got nothin' but this barricade."

"But-"

Enjolras chose that moment to come up and accost Gavroche.

"You are small," he said, "you will not be seen. Go out of the barricade, slip along close to the houses, skirmish about a bit in the streets, and come back and tell me what is going on."

Gavroche sprang up,

"So little fellows are good for something!" he rejoiced. Eponine grabbed him by the shoulders.

"You will not go out there, Gavroche!"

"Lay off, 'Ponine! Oh, and Enjolras," Gavroche went on, "That big man over there, do you see him?"

"Yes," said Enjolras.

"He's a police spy."

"Are you sure of it?"

"Yes."

Enjolras approached the man, and soon the spy was a prisoner, and Gavroche had left the barricade. Eponine found Feuilly, and the pair sat together, holding each other and not speaking. Eponine leaned on Feuilly's shoulder and was nearly asleep when an old song pierced the air, cut off by a noise that sounded like a rooster crowing.

"That's Gavroche!" she cried, "He's trying to warn us of something!"

A second later, Gavroche bounded through the barricade, breathing hard.

"My gun! Here they are!"

Everyone made to grab their guns, and Feuilly handed Eponine her pistol. The revolutionaries took their places on the barricades, most of them outside the wine shop with their guns through loopholes in the barricade. A few stayed behind, commanded by Feuilly and were positioned, guns at the ready, inside the shop.

A voice rang through the night,

"Who goes there?"

"The French Revolution!" Enjolras cried.

"Fire!" said the voice, and several things happened at once. Bullets flew through the barricade and wounded several, lighting the night up with an odd purplish hue. The big scarlet flag which had flown so gallantly was knocked down. An old man who Eponine didn't know attempted to raise it again, and was shot through with many bullets.

When Feuilly was sure that the firing had ceased, at least temporarily, he sent Eponine out to help with the wounded. Gavroche was still on the barricade, and suddenly called out,

"Look out!"

A group of soldiers had tried to force their way through the barricade. The men came charging out of the wine shop, and a skirmish ensued. The revolutionaries were victorious, thanks to a man who Eponine didn't know who had just entered the barricade. She brought a man who had been shot through the calf inside, leaning on her shoulder.

"Come on, it's just a bit further," she encouraged, getting him to a chair and settling him there, washing his wound and bandaging it.

"Be off with you, or I'll blow up the barricade!" a familiar voice cried. It was Marius. Eponine finished her bandaging and ran outside just in time to hear a manly voice call out,

"_Vive la France_! Long live France! Long live the future!" A gunshot followed.

"They have killed him," Combeferre said.

"Who?" Eponine asked.

"Jean Prouvaire," he replied sadly. Eponine got a lump in her throat and tears sprang to her eyes. Gentle, sweet Jehan! The poet, who had grown the prettiest flowers she had ever seen. She dashed inside to find Feuilly.

"Oh Feuilly!" she said when she found him, tears trickling down her cheeks.

"What is it?" he asked, worried.

"It's J-Jehan," she sobbed, "They've killed him! Oh, I hate this barricade!"

Feuilly took her into his arms and hushed her.

"It's so unfair!" Eponine cried out, almost angry now.

"I know it is, _chère_," he replied gently, stroking her hair. But he had little time to comfort her, for there were still men who needed to be tended, and the barricade needed repairs. After these things were taken care of, Enjolras suggested that everyone get some sleep.

Only three or four people actually took advantage of this. Feuilly used his time to carve an inscription on the wall of the tavern –

LONG LIVE THE PEOPLES!

Eponine sat close, tending to a young man who was no older than she, singing a soft lullaby.

_Dodo, l'enfant do,  
L'enfant dormira bien vite  
Dodo, l'enfant do  
L'enfant dormira bientôt._

_Une poule blanche  
Est là dans la grange.  
Qui va faire un petit coco*  
Pour l'enfant qui va fair' dodo._

_Dodo, l'enfant do,  
L'enfant dormira bien vite  
Dodo, l'enfant do  
L'enfant dormira bientôt._

_Tout le monde est sage  
Dans le voisinage  
Il est l'heure d'aller dormir  
Le sommeil va bientôt venir._

Enjolras disappeared into the night, with the grim news that the army of Paris, along with the National Guard, was going to strike them. There was little hope, he said. Feuilly gathered Eponine in his arms and held her warm little body close as the insurgents quieted. Suddenly, someone called out,

"So be it. Let us raise the barricade to a height of twenty feet, and let us all remain in it. Citizens, let us offer the protests of corpses. Let us show that, if the people abandon the republicans, the republicans do not abandon the people."

This rallied the revolutionaries, and was met with great enthusiasm. Enjolras spoke up again, and Marius, encouraging any man who wished to leave, and providing four uniforms for them to escape in.

A man brought a fifth, and donated it to the cause, but Eponine barely noticed. She was clinging almost desperately to Feuilly, head on his chest, listening to his heart beat. Time passed in a haze, and Eponine sat close at the men tore up more paving-stones to reinforce the barricade. The man for whom she had sung the lullaby had expired, and she wept as she covered him.

The day passed too quickly, and toward evening, the sounds of the oncoming army became painfully apparent. The revolutionaries positioned themselves on the barricade, as a cannon made its appearance. Eponine refused to leave Feuilly's side and go into the safety of the wine-shop as they readied for battle.

"Fire!" Enjolras shouted, and smoke covered the barricade. When it had cleared, they could see that no one had been hit, and the order was given to reload. A cannon spattered the barricade with grapeshot, and a flying chip of stone cut Eponine's cheek. The captain who had ordered the cannon fire paid for it with his life. One bullet from Enjolras ended it.

They continued to skirmish throughout the night, the French Army firing grapeshot, and the revolutionaries replying with musket fire.

Gavroche was killed gathering cartridges, and Marius bore him back into the barricade. Eponine wordlessly took her younger brother's body and laid it tenderly on the ground, wiping the dirt off his face with a damp rag and her tears. She was singing her lullaby again. Feuilly knelt and put his arms around her.

"I used to sing that to him when he was a baby," she said softly, "he was ever so fussy. You know, I don't think that I ever…told him I loved him."

"Shhh," Feuilly said, tenderly stroking her hair, "I'm sure he knew it."

Eponine cried herself into an exhausted sleep, and Feuilly kept still.

It was now midday, and the insurgents were preparing for their final battle.

**English translation of Eponine's lullaby:**

_Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,/The child will sleep very soon/Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,/The child will sleep oh, so soon. _

_A white hen/Is in the barn./It'll make a small egg/For the child who goes to sleep. _

_Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,/The child will sleep very soon/Sleepy time, the young one sleeps,/The child will sleep oh, so soon. _

_Everyone is calm/All around/It's the time for all to sleep/Sleep will come soon._


	21. Escape From the Final Battle

**AHHH. I haven't updated in forever! So sorry! Finals have kept me ridiculously busy. But I'm on break now, so hopefully I'll be able to finish this story soon!**

**Enjoy!**

The final attack came at the barricade like a hurricane. The National Guard made no secret of their approach this time, and assaulted the insurgents ferociously.

Eponine was inside the wine shop, aiming and firing her pistol out of the window, not knowing if she hit anything. She saw Marius at one end of the barricade, more than half his body exposed, fighting wildly, and Enjolras at the other end, more hidden, dropping soldiers before they knew he was there.

But she only glimpsed these two briefly, as her eyes were searching for another. He was in and out of the smoke; sometimes she could see him and follow him with her eyes for minutes at a time, others she only caught his coattails as he darted here and there.

Attack after attack came. When Eponine saw Marius again, his face was bloody from wounds. Feuilly was limping. Courfeyrac was killed, and she watched in horror as Combeferre took three blows in the chest from a National Guard soldier's bayonet. He looked upward and died. Eponine laid her pistol on the windowsill, covering her mouth in horror.

A final assault came, and the center of the barricade gave way. Eponine saw Feuilly sprinting back toward the wine shop. She snatched up her pistol and ran downstairs, meeting him halfway.

Feuilly's face was bleeding, and he had been shot through the shoulder.

"Eponine, you've got to go! You'll be killed if you stay."

"You're coming with me?" she asked, "You can't possibly help any more, you're hurt!"

"I can't, 'Ponine," he said, laying his hand against her cheek.

"Then I won't go either!"

"You must."

"Not without you!" she cried. The National Guard was advancing toward the wine shop, and Enjolras was shouting, rallying the insurgents for a final attack. A shot whistled through the window and went through Eponine's calf. She shrieked and fell. Feuilly caught her with his good arm, steadying her.

"Feuilly!" someone yelled behind him. He turned to see Enjolras, standing tall and fierce with his rifle at his shoulder.

"Get out of here, Feuilly," Enjolras commanded, "there's nothing more you can do here. Take Eponine and go."

"But…"

"_Vive la Revolution!"_ Enjolras cried, "Remember us, Feuilly. You must carry on the spirit of the people. Others will rise to take our place, until the earth is free! Stand with them! Now go!"

Feuilly grasped his hand briefly, and lifted Eponine over his good shoulder, going out a side door. Pure adrenaline kept him moving as he skirted the National Guard, who were too focused on the wine shop to see him make his way over the ruined barricade and out into the street.

But where to now? Feuilly's thoughts raced, and he moved as if in a dream.

_Keep moving, he had to keep moving. Ignore the searing pain in his shoulder, the shots and screams behind him. Eponine moaned in pain. Eponine…he should comfort her. He could always comfort her. He knew what to say, what to do. But he couldn't. Everything, all of his strength, his mind, his body, his soul, were needed to keep him moving. He had to save her. The pain in his shoulder was ebbing into a steady burn, and her whimpers fell on deaf ears. A doctor, he should find a doctor. But what if the National Guard found him? _

_A man was up ahead, carrying another like a babe. They had been at the barricades…follow them! That man, he had given up his uniform so that a man could escape. Surely he would help!_

"Monsieur!" Feuilly called, "Monsieur, help! Please!"

The man turned around and waited until they caught up. With some distant distaste, Feuilly recognized Marius in his arms, barely alive.

"Follow me," was all the man said. He went to a grate before a house, raising it and descending into the depths of the sewer. Feuilly followed.

Once they were in the bottom of the filth and the stench, the man paused and turned around.

"She is bleeding heavily. We must stop it before we go further," he said, using one hand to tear his coat into shreds. With his help, Feuilly bound Eponine's leg, and they continued on their way. Feuilly was lost, but the other man seemed to know where he was going, and they walked for what seemed like forever, cold and wet and stinking.

An almost phantom patrol of policemen appeared, and Feuilly's companion paused just long enough to let them pass before continuing. On and on they walked, before finally reaching the outlet where the sewer went up to the streets.

Feuilly uttered a groan of misery. The outlet was blocked by a heavy iron grate.

"What will we do?" he asked of the other man, who shook his head.

"I do not know. It seems God has destined us to die in this sewer. And my poor daughter, left all alone, without her father or her love!" he buried his face in his hands.

A man came out of the dark, and had a conversation with the man carrying Marius. Feuilly leaned against the wall, exhausted, not comprehending much. The man was asking for money in exchange for letting them out of the sewer. He had no money.

The other man paid off the one with the key to the sewer, and they ascended into the open air. Feuilly's only thought was to get Eponine to a doctor. A policeman was confronting his travel companion, but he didn't care. He only took enough time to figure out where he was before setting off in the direction of a doctor's house.

Feuilly banged on the door when they reached it, and a man answered. He wrinkled his nose and looked at them in shock.

"Dear God, man! What has happened to you?"

"I cannot say, monsieur. I can only beg your help. This girl has been shot through the leg and I through the shoulder. We need your help."

"Come inside."

Feuilly did as he was told, laying Eponine gently on the couch before collapsing onto the floor.

"Care for her first," he murmured, before fainting face-first into the carpet.


	22. Recovery

**Thanks for all the reviews! I can't say it enough! I appreciate them sooo much!**

Feuilly awoke several hours later, lying on his back, with a searing pain in his shoulder. A woman was bending over him, washing his face with a damp rag. He shut his eyes tightly as memories flooded him.

_The barricade, his closest friends falling and dying around him. He, unable to stop it. Eponine's face when the bullet pierced her leg…Eponine! Dear God, where was she?_

He tried to sit up, but the woman placed a hand in the middle of his chest.

"You just stay right there, young man," she commanded, "you're in no shape to be going anywhere."

He blinked stupidly up at her round, jovial face.

"But...'Ponine…the girl I brought with me…" he attempted, unable to complete his sentence.

"She'll be fine," the woman said, "She's just in the next room."

"I need to see her," he said simply.

"You need to eat something," came the reply, "and leave her to rest. Poor thing was exhausted after we removed the bullet. She won't wake for awhile, and you might as well use the time to get something in your stomach. It'll do you good."

Feuilly was at a loss. In his current state, there was little he could do except swallow the broth that was being spooned insistently into his mouth, and chew the bread that followed. Last, the woman emptied a paper packet of bitter powder onto his tongue, and held a glass of water to his lips.

"That'll help you sleep. When you wake up, you can see the girl. All right?"

"Mhmm," he mumbled, his eyes suddenly very heavy. Feuilly slipped into a deep, dreamless slumber, and didn't awake until the next morning. A man stood by him this time, rebandaging his shoulder, which throbbed worse than before.

"Ah, you're awake again," the doctor said briskly.

"I wish I wasn't," Feuilly groaned.

"You're in better shape than you should be," was the reply, "don't know why you were in the sewer, and I don't _want_ to know, but you should have picked up a far worse infection than you did. Your lady friend's got a bad one."

"Will she be all right?"

"She'll be fine; we caught it just in time. She's in a lot of pain, though, and will be for awhile. Won't say a word to me or my wife except 'thank you' and to ask if 'Feuilly' is all right. I'm guessing that's you?"

"Yes."

"I'm Doctor Joseph Lemaitre."

"I owe you both our lives, Doctor Lemaitre. I don't know how I'll repay you."

"Don't worry about it," the doctor said gruffly, waving a hand, "reimburse me for the medicines. I won't charge for my services or your keep."

"I'd be forever in your debt."

"You've got someone waiting for you," Lemaitre said, tying off the bandage, "go through that door. Careful now. There's a bowl of broth and some bread on the nightstand. See if you can get her to eat."

He helped Feuilly up, and Feuilly walked to the door, his whole body tense with anticipation as he grasped the knob and turned it.

The room was more dimly lit than his, because the curtains were pulled. Eponine lay there alone, pale and thin, her eyes turned upward. She didn't look at him as he entered.

"That's not a very kind greeting for your fiancé, _chère_," Feuilly teased gently. Eponine sat upright, gingerly and quickly at the same time.

"Feuilly?" she asked.

"Who else?" he replied with a smile, crossing the room to gather her in his arms and drop gentle kisses on her hair and her face. She was crying.

"They wouldn't let me see you," she sniffed, "I was afraid that you were dead."

"Oh, _chère_," he said softly, "I could never die, as long as you needed me."

Eponine reached up and touched his face, tracing his jaw, his lips with her small, cold hand. He grasped it between his and held it to his breast. It was her left hand, and she still wore the ring he had given her.

Feuilly examined her hand in the dim light. The tiny stone still sparkled bravely through the coat of grime it had gathered in the battle. He used the sleeve of his shirt, which had been laundered and returned to him, to wipe it away. Eponine smiled softly.

"Do something for me, _chère_," he requested.

"Anything."

"Eat something. The doctor says that you haven't since you got here. You'll need your strength to heal." He picked up the bowl of broth and held a spoonful to her lips. She ate it willingly, with an edge to her appetite.

He sat with her for awhile, noting with satisfaction that the color returned to her cheeks and she became more animated the longer he stayed. The doctor came in after a few hours, giving Eponine a packet of the powder that he had given Feuilly earlier.

"She needs sleep now," he said, "and you need to lie down again."

Feuilly nodded. His shoulder had begun throbbing again, and just sitting up had become a chore.

"Stay with me…until I fall asleep," Eponine murmured. He smiled and kissed her forehead.

"Of course," he whispered, brushing a lock of hair from her face. By the time he had tucked it behind her ear, she was sound asleep. Doctor Lemaitre escorted Feuilly back into the other room and gave him the same medicine.

This became routine for the next few weeks, Feuilly alternating between sleep and caring for Eponine. He was healing faster than her, having escaped infection, and soon Doctor Lemaitre released her into his care.

Feuilly brought her to his home again, and sent for Muschietta to care for her during the day so that he could work again. He had lost nearly a month's worth of painting fans. He sent a message to Eponine's former employers. They had hired a new girl, they said, but she was scatterbrained and not as smart, and they would be grateful to have Eponine back when she had healed.

Eponine didn't want him to leave; she feared losing him. But he comforted and reassured her that he would be back at the end of the day, like always. She let him go only with kisses and promises of his return.


	23. Wedding Plans

**Two chapters in two days! Yay! Anyway, I leave Wednesday for the FCS Football Championship in Chattanooga, TN, and I'll be back Sunday-ish, so no updates till then. **

Shortly after Feuilly left, Muchietta arrived to keep Eponine company. Eponine could finally sit up for longer periods of time, and was on the couch with her leg propped up on a chair. The girls embraced, and Muchietta sat next to her friend.

"Look what I've brought!" Muchietta said cheerfully, producing the wedding dress pattern she had promised Eponine.

"Oh, it's beautiful!" Eponine said, "But I don't know if I could sew that. It's so complicated."

"I can do it," Muschietta said, "I don't mind helping." Her voice started to crack a little. Eponine looked up at her curiously.

"What's wrong?"

"I…" Muschietta bit her lip and sat down, "Oh, Eponine, I'm so jealous of you! I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

Tears formed in her eyes, and she buried her face in her hands. Eponine reached over and put a hand on her shoulder.

"I loved Joly, Eponine. I truly did," Muchietta said, the tears trickling down her cheeks, "And it's only now that I realize how cruel I was to him. I…I was trying to be coy and playful. Oh, it must have hurt him terribly!" she dissolved into tears.

"Shhh," Eponine hushed her friend gently, putting her arms around her, "I'm sure he knew that you loved him."

"I treated him like a toy," Muchietta sniffed, "and now he's gone!"

Eponine handed her a handerchief to wipe her eyes.

"I'm sure he knew how you felt about him," she said gently, "and he loved you ever so much."

"My poor, sweet Joly!" Muchietta sobbed. Eponine was at a loss for words now. She had never seen anyone so effected by death before, nor felt such strong emotion herself. Her grandmother had died, when she had been very small. Her mother had just been angry that she hadn't inherited anything.

Eponine could only hold her friend and pat her on the back while Muchietta cried. But after awhile the tears subsided, and Muchietta recovered a bit.

"Why don't I go and make us some tea?" she asked.

"That would be wonderful," Eponine replied with a smile, "but I feel like I should be making it for you."

Muchietta smiled and went into the kitchen, returning a few minutes later with the tea. The ladies passed the afternoon more cheerfully, and Muchietta was feeling much better when she left for the night.

Feuilly came home, embracing Eponine and kissing her, one hand carefully hiding the bulge in his pocket.

"Hello, _chère_. How was your day?"

"It was fine," she said, "Muchietta is quite upset by Joly's death."

"I know," Feuilly said, sitting down next to her and kissing her cheek. He couldn't get enough of her since the night at the barricades, terrified that he would lose her. A strange noise came from his pocket, and Eponine jumped, looking at him curiously.

"What was that?"

"What? I didn't hear anything," he said quickly. Eponine frowned, but leaned in for a kiss. As their lips met, she reached down into the pocket. Her fingers touched something soft and warm. Something soft and warm that was…licking her?

She squealed and pulled her hand out of the pocket. Feuilly threw his head back and laughed.

"What is that?" Eponine asked, her eyes wide, staring at his coat, which was now moving. Feuilly smiled and put a hand into his pocket, pulling out a tiny white kitten that was now mewing pathetically. He put it into her hands.

"I thought you'd like her," he said, smiling and kissing her on the forehead, "Someone offered me her in exchange for a painting. I couldn't say no. She needed a home."

The kitten climbed up onto Eponine's shoulder, curled up in her neck, and fell asleep. Eponine smiled and moved it into her lap.

"She is very sweet, isn't she?" Eponine asked, running her fingers through the kitten's fur. Feuilly nodded and put his arm around her.

"We're a little family now," he said, kissing her temple.

"She looks more like you," Eponine teased.

"She has your eyes," Feuilly replied.

"I'll call her Vitorie," Eponine decided.

Life settled back into a sort of routing after that. Muchietta brought several yards of white fabric to Eponine, saying that it was a wedding gift, and the pair began sewing on the dress, making wedding plans. Eponine also took up her job again, and moved back into her tiny apartment above the book shop.

Azelma, through her "connections", had managed to find her sister, and came by a few times a week. She was constantly gushing about how happy she was with Montparnasse, how well things were going. Eponine smiled through gritted teeth and said nothing, telling herself that as long as he treated Azelma well, she would keep her peace.

But Azelma's visits began to become fewer and fewer, and she was skittish, trying to hide bruises that she couldn't explain. Still, Eponine held her tongue, knowing that there was nothing she could say. Until Azelma came running in early one morning, crying and pounding on the door.

It was a Saturday, and Eponine had the day off. She was still asleep, and the pounding frightened her. Finding Feuilly's pistol, still loaded from the battle at the barricades, she crept down the stairs and opened the door a crack.

"'Ponine! Let me in, quick!"

"'Zelma! What's wrong?"

Azelma burst into the room, out of breath, with a bleeding lip and a swollen eye, tears streaming down her cheeks. Eponine ushered her to the couch and went to the kitchen as fast as she could, fetching a damn rag and putting the teakettle on.

As tenderly as a mother, she wiped her sister's tears away, along with the blood on her lip. Azelma was silent and sullen. The settle whistled, and Eponine fetched it, putting extra sugar in her sister's cup. Azelma's lips barely moved as she whispered her thanks. Eponine wrapped a blanket around her shoulders and set the cat in her lap. Azelma would speak when she was ready, she knew from long experience.

A long silence passed, and Eponine embroidered some trim on her dress.

"'E asked me to marry 'im!" Azelma finally blurted out, the confession bringing a fresh round of tears with it. Eponine pressed her hand sympathetically,

"What did you say?"

"No, of course. 'E's been 'itting me a lot lately, an' I told 'im that I wouldn't take it anymore, that I was leavin'. An' 'e said that I was jus' like you, 'Ponine. I took it as a compliment!"

"Oh, 'Zelma," Eponine said, hugging her sister, "you can stay here with me as long as you need to."

"I'm afraid 'e'll follow me here," Azelma said.

"That's what I've got the pistol for," Eponine replied grimly. Azelma's eyes widened and her mouth fell open.

"'Ponine, you wouldn't!"

"Wouldn't I?" Eponine asked. Azelma closed her mouth. Someone banged on the door of the shop below, and they looked at each other.

**I am so sorry to leave you with a cliffhanger. Seriously. I didn't mean to do it!**

**Will put new chapter up ASAP after my return from TN!**


	24. Montparnasse

**Merry Christmas, everyone! **

**If you don't celebrate Christmas, Happy Holidays!**

Eponine handed the pistol to Azelma.

"I'm going down there. Come behind me and be quiet," she commanded.

"Who's there?" she called.

"Eponine, is that you?" a rough voice called, "Let me in so I can see 'Zelma!" It was Montparnasse.

"Go away!" Eponine called, "She's not here!"

"And where else would she be 'iding? You better let me in, 'Ponine. I'll bust the door down, I swear!"

"If you break my door, I'll have the police called," Eponine replied firmly, "now go away."

The sisters heard retreating footsteps and sighed in relief. They went back upstairs, and Eponine made a quick dinner before they went to sleep. They shared Eponine's bed, just as they had done when they were small children.

A crashing of class woke them up. Eponine was out of bed in a flash, handing the pistol to Azelma.

"I'll handle this! You just be quiet and hide under the bed. Don't shoot unless I tell you to."

Footsteps came pounding up the stairs, and Eponine slipped a robe on over her nightgown, calmly opening the bedroom door and meeting Montparnasse as he mounted the top of the stairs.

"Well, 'Parnasse, you've broken my window," she said evenly, shutting the door behind her and leaning against the wall casually.

"I know she's 'ere!" Montparnasse said, "Tell me where 'Zelma is!"

"I'm afraid she's gone," Eponine answered, "now, will you leave a girl to sleep? I'm quite exhausted."

"Not until I've 'ad a look around," Montparnasse sneered, "You always were a sneak. Would surprise me if you were 'iding 'er around 'ere somewhere."

"You're not going to search my house," Eponine said firmly, putting her hands on her hips. He crossed the room and stood nose-to-nose with her. She stood her ground, although he had a good six inches on her.

"What do you want with my sister, anyway?" Eponine said quickly, stalling for time. Montparnasse had never been very smart, and she thought that she might be able to distract him.

"She's got somethin' o' mine," Montparnasse said, "I stole this necklace off an old lady, an' gave it to 'er. Now I want it back."

"Well, next time I see her, I'll tell her. Now go away," Eponine said, moving toward him and shooing him toward the door. He stood his ground.

"I'm not dumb, 'Ponine. I'm not leavin' till I've looked through this whole 'ouse of yours."

"You're not going in my bedroom. It's private. Now get out, or I'll send for the police."

Montparnasse grabbed her by the arm, and pulled her out of his way, grabbing for the door handle. Eponine grabbed him and tried to pull him away.

"Get out of my house!"

"No!" he shoved her, pushing her to the ground. She hit her head and blacked out. He threw open the door. Azelma was standing there, shaking from head to foot, holding the pistol in her quavering hands. Montparnasse laughed.

"You wouldn't shoot me, 'Zelma. You 'asn't got the 'eart. You love me," he said, his attempt at sweet talking making Eponine cringe.

"Get out of me sister's 'ouse," Azelma said bravely, "now."

"Come on, 'Zelma. We're to be married, remember?" he said, walking toward her. She began to shake more violently.

"You love me, 'Zelma," he said. The gun went off. Azelma screamed and dropped it, and Montparnasse dropped to the floor, shot through the chest. He gasped and gurgled, blood frothing at his lips. Azelma dropped to her knees beside him. Minutes ticked by.

Eponine, brought back to consciousness by the shot, stared at the scene with horror. The wheels in her brain seemed to be turning a million miles a second, trying to figure out what to do. She heard voices outside. Surely they had heard the gunshot and would call the police. But she couldn't move.

Montparnasse let out one final gurgle and passed over. Azelma's eyes were huge in her paper-white face.

"What are we going to do, 'Ponine?" Azelma whispered frantically. Eponine took a deep breath,

"It was self-defense, 'Zelma. Everything will be all right. They'll see the broken window and know that he broke in."

There was a pounding on the door downstairs.

"It's the police! Open up!" a man's voice called. Eponine hurried down the stairs to open the door.

"We had a report of a gunshot, and I see your broken window. Is everything all right, madame?" a tall, gray-haired man asked.

"It was simply awful, sir!" Eponine replied, "A man broke into my home and tried to attack my sister and I. She shot him."

"I see," the man replied, looking very stern. Eponine was afraid now. What if the policeman didn't believe their story? What if he took them to jail?

"Will you show us the scene of the crime?" he asked. She nodded and led him up the stairs. The pistol lay where it had fallen, and Azelma sat on the bed, teary-eyed. The policeman's lip curled like a bulldog's as he beheld the body of Montparnasse.

"I know this man. He runs with a gang of thieves," he said to the group of men behind him, "He has just barely escaped me several times. I suppose this is due justice." He inspected the body coldly, and turned to Eponine.

"I trust you would like us to dispose of the body, madame?"

"It would be greatly appreciated," Eponine replied, breathing a sigh of relief. She went to the bed and put an arm around Azelma.

"It's over," she said softly, stroking her sister's hair. Azelma nodded, but couldn't speak. The policeman were picking up the body, and Eponine stood.

"Thank you so much monsieurs," she said, inclining her head. The head policeman bowed to her,

"If there's anything else, I can do, please let me know."

"That should be all for now," she replied, "thank you ever so much."

He tipped his hat and went out the door. Eponine found an old towel, and set to cleaning up the blood. Azelma sat on the bed, her knees drawn up her chin. She watched Eponine, still shaking like a leaf. Eponine finished cleaning up and threw the towel in the rubbish bin, then washed herself and climbed back into bed. The sun was peeking over the rooftops, and she pulled the curtain.

"Let's go back to sleep now," she said soothingly, tucking Azelma in. They were asleep as soon as their heads touched the old pillow.

**I totally wanted to turn this into a Sweeny Todd crossover in this chapter XD. **

**Buuut I didn't.**

**Enjoy!**


	25. The Wedding

**I worked sooo hard on this chapter!**

**Hope you like it!**

Azelma stayed with Eponine after that. Muchietta found her work as a nanny, a job that she enjoyed immensely.

At first after Montparnasse's death, Azelma had nightmares and would wake up screaming. Eponine spend many nights comforting her sister. But eventually, the dreams faded, as did Muchietta's pain at Joly's death.

Muchietta had men buzzing around her, as usual, but she quietly turned them down until she met a young medical student who was forever staring at his tongue in the mirror. She allowed him to court her after awhile.

Even Azelma had found a friend, the older brother of the children that she nannied for. The pair spent many a summer evening walking together, and Azelma blushed deeply every time Eponine inquired about him.

Before anyone knew it, September had come. Muchietta was fitting Eponine's dress one last time. The ceremony that they had planned was very small. Muchietta was there to walk with her friend down the aisle, as Eponine still had a slight limp, and Azelma was to spread flower petals as they went.

They all carried bouquets of white roses, tied up with a blue and a red ribbon, as a symbol of freedom, and a very thin black ribbon as a small reminder of the friends that had been lost. Feuilly wore a white rose in his buttonhole with the same ornamentation.

Eponine glowed in her white dress, her hair up under a kissing veil, her arm linked with Muchietta's. Azelma came before, scattering rose petals. Feuilly waited at the altar, in his best coat and a new blue cravat, a wedding gift from Muchietta and Azelma. He had sheepishly called Muchietta over the night before, and she had stayed up late patching his coat and pants. His shoes were polished and shiny, and his hair was tied back into a neat queue.

Watching Eponine walk up the aisle toward him took Feuilly's breath away. He could see her cheeks, flushed pink with happiness, even under the veil. The white dress was simple, but it made her even more beautiful.

The only music was the old organ, which the priest's sister had kindly offered to play. She was not very good, however, and wrong notes frequently peppered the familiar melody as Eponine walked slowly down the aisle.

She reached the altar, and Feuilly held out his hand. She slipped her small, trembling hand into his big, steady, warm one, and they smiled at each other as Eponine stepped up next to her future husband.

The vows were short and very simple. Rings were exchanged, and soon Feuilly raised a now-trembling hand to raise Eponine's veil. She was smiling at him, her eyes bright.

"I love you," he said softly.

"I love you," she replied. He leaned in and kissed her. The couple resisted the urge for a long, drawn-out kiss, and Azelma and Muchietta laughed and clapped.

It was a beautiful wedding.

Eponine and Feuilly left the church as man and wife, hand in hand. The girls came behind, arms linked. A few people turned and saw the merry foursome, but the quiet little marriage was unnoticed by most.

Back at the newlywed's house, they held a small reception. Muchietta and Azelma stacked small round cakes as high as they could balance them. Tradition dictated that Feuilly and Eponine would have good luck in their marriage if they could kiss over the stack without knocking it down.

The girls had managed to pile the cakes quite high, and on the table they went above Eponine's head. Luckily, Feuilly was at least six inches taller, and he managed to stand over the top and lean down. When Eponine stood on her tiptoes, she could brush her lips against his.

Azelma laughed,

"We almost got you, 'Ponine! I wanted to stack them higher, but Muchietta wouldn't let me!"

"I couldn't let her," Muchietta said, laughing quietly, "I want my dear friend's marriage to be perfect."

"So do I!" Azelma said. Eponine laughed and hugged her.

The bride and groom and their wedding guests ate the cakes, with milk instead of champagne, and Muchietta and Azelma left. Azelma was taking Eponine's old room above the book shop. All of Eponine's things had been moved to Feuilly's small house the day before.

The newlyweds sat up late, a crackling fire chasing away the chill of the September night, waiting for the girls to come back for their _chiverie_, the wedding-night prank that was supposed to interrupt the couple as they consummated their marriage. Azelma and Muchietta would come banging pots and pans outside the window, and Eponine and Feuilly were to appear, still in wedding clothes, and give them treats.

However, first light broke over the rooftops, and there was no sign of Azelma and Muchietta. Eponine, from her place next to Feuilly, was yawning widely. She had napped on and off during the night, as had he, but had gotten little sleep altogether.

"Maybe we've outlasted them," Feuilly said, kissing Eponine on the forehead, "are you ready for bed, _chère_?"

She nodded sleepily, and they went into their bedroom together. Eponine went idly to the open window and closed it, then to the closet. She opened it, jumped, and then laughed.

"What is it?" Feuilly asked. She put a finger to her lips and beckoned him over. There, on the floor of the tiny closet, Muchietta and Azelma slept, leaning on each other. Eponine crept to the kitchen, fetching two pots and long spoons.

Laughing, the couple beat the pots, causing the girls in the closet to jump awake. Azelma rubbed her eyes and looked up at her sister,

"W-what time is it?"

"It's morning, you goose!" Eponine cried, laughing. Muchietta managed a wry smile,

"So we fell asleep, did we? Well, the joke's on us!"

"Indeed it is," Feuilly said. The girls stood and hugged the couple, bidding their last goodbyes, and took their leave. Feuilly locked the window and drew the curtain, wrapping his arms around Eponine and kissing her.

"Let's sleep, _chère_. You're exhausted."

They changed into nightclothes quickly, and soon Eponine was cradled in Feuilly's arms. She gave him one last warm, sleepy kiss, before falling asleep as soon as her head hit the pillow.

Feuilly watched his smiling little wife sleep for a bit, before dropping the gentlest of kisses on her forehead,

"I love you," he whispered. She did not stir, and he laid his head next to hers, closing his eyes and falling into a deep, peaceful slumber.

**So, it makes me sad to say that this is probably the last chapter, except for a short –and probably fluffy; you've been warned!- little Epilogue so you can see a little into Eppie and Feuilly's happily ever after. I really enjoyed writing it, and I hope you liked reading it!**

**I'm always looking for another piece to work on, so if you have any suggestions…I'm thinking a Montparnasse/Azelma fic next!**

**Anyway, thanks so much for reading, and even more for reviews!**

**Yours,**

**M.**


	26. Epilogue

**--------Epilogue------- **

The first five years of Feuilly and Eponine's marriage had been a struggle, especially after the birth of their first child, Gabriel Jean, in 1835. However, one of Feuilly's memorial paintings of the barricade done on its fifth anniversary had been "discovered" by some rich Parisian, and he had become a sort of celebrity among the high class in Paris. The commissions had begun to come in, slowly at first, but now so fast that he had to put some on hold and even turn a few down.

Feuilly and Eponine had their second son, Laurent Severin, in 1840, and she was able to quit her job to stay home with the children. Gabriel was a quiet young thing who inherited his father's dark hair and blue eyes. He was already showing a talent for painting, and Eponine had taught him his letters. He was named for the archangel Gabriel, and Jean Prouvaire, the first of their friends to die at the barricade.

Feuilly had named Louis after his friends Laurent Courfeyrac and Severin Combeferre. Eponine had never known their first names. He had that odd shade of auburn hair and brown eyes. He looked just like his mother, and was bright-eyed and spunky from an early age.

Muchietta had married the same year Laurent was born, to her always-sickly medical student. He was now a doctor, and they had four children, two boys who were always checking their tongues in the mirror, and two girls who already knew how to bat their eyelashes at the passing boys.

Azelma had been the last to marry, having been too young to even be courted the year of the Revolution. She had married ten years after, in 1842, to the rich young man who was the elder brother of the children she cared for. They had three little girls who always kept their parents on their toes.

It was Christmas 1850, nearly twenty years after what was now called the Revolution of 1832. Eponine sat on the small sofa in the big house she and Feuilly now lived in, holding Azelma's youngest, Josephine. Feuilly, never far from his wife's side, sat by her, letting the baby grasp at his fingers.

Azelma's other two girls, Clarice and Marcelle, were playing with their new dolls on the rug by the fireplace. Laurent was trying to convince them to go outside and play in the snow.

Gabriel was sitting at his mother's feet, with a sheet of paper and a pen, his brow furrowed in thought. Eponine touched him lightly on the shoulder.

"What are you working so hard on, son?" she asked.

"A poem," he replied, "a Christmas poem for a girl that I met yesterday at the party at the Pontmercy's."

Although Feuilly and Eponine had long debated whether they should let him go to the fashionable Christmas party for young people that the Pontmercys threw every year, they had decided to forgive and forget. And Gabriel had wanted to go so badly.

"Mama, Mama!" Laurent cried, bounding up to Eponine.

"What is it?"

"Clarice and Marcelle said they'd play in the snow with me! Can we, Mama? Please?"

Eponine looked at Feuilly, and he nodded.

"All right. Put on your warm clothes and don't be out too long!" she said. The three cousins took off toward the door.

Baby Josephine began to fuss, and Azelma took her into another room to nurse. Her husband, who was nearly as protective of her as Feuilly of Eponine, followed her. Eponine turned her attention back to her son.

"So, is she pretty?"

"Oh, she's beautiful, Mama! She has long dark hair, and the biggest brown eyes you've ever seen. She's soft spoken, and has beautiful pale skin."

"Well, did you ask if you could call on her?" Feuilly only meant to tease Gabriel.

"Yes! And she said I could!" Gabriel cried happily. Feuilly choked on the tea he was drinking.

"I don't…you're not quite old enough…" he sputtered. Eponine laid a finger gently across his lips, laughing softly.

"Would you like the sleigh? I'm sure she would love to go sleighing with you, and our poor horse hasn't gotten out in so long. You haven't been sleighing yet this season, Gabriel."

"Oh, Mama, that would be wonderful!" Gabriel said, "I'm to call on her the day after tomorrow."

"Does she live far?"

"Oh, no. You've been to the Pontmercy's, Mama. You know where that is!"

It was Eponine's turn to choke on her tea.

"The…Pontmercy's?" she managed.

"Yes! Their daughter, Veroniqe. You've met her."

"Veronique is a very sweet girl," Feuilly spoke up, "I'm sure you'll have a wonderful time with her."

"Oh, I hope so! I'm going to go finish my poem to her now!" he grabbed his paper and pen and raced up the stairs. Eponine looked at her husband, not knowing whether to be annoyed or amused. Feuilly laughed at the expression on her face and embraced her, kissing her softly and resting his chin on top of her hair.

"I suppose we find love in the oddest places," she said finally. He laughed,

"And if Gabriel _Jean_ is anything like our Jehan, he'll be writing a poem for a new girl every week."

Eponine laughed,

"Oh, I'd forgotten that! I wonder what else I've forgotten. About them," she said, becoming somber for a moment.

"What matters is that you remember that they fought for what they believed in," Feuilly replied, "They stood up for France, because they loved her. Never forget that about them, Eponine. Remember them as they were in the Café Musain, or remember them as they were on the barricade, it doesn't matter. But remember what they fought for."

"Yes," she replied softly, brushing a tear from her cheek. The clock chimed six, startling them both.

"Oh, dear, it's time for Christmas dinner!" Eponine said, stopping to give Feuilly a kiss before running to the door to call in the three children, and upstairs to fetch Gabriel. Azelma and her husband brought the baby out, and the family gathered around the table.

Feuilly sat and smiled, watching his two handsome sons tousle each other's hair, and his wife, her cheeks pink with heat, bustle around the kitchen. Her cooking had improved immensely since she had burnt his dinner so long ago.

Later that night, after everyone had left and the children were in bed, Eponine and Feuilly sat awake on the sofa. He held her close and they talked softly as the hour grew later.

"I think we'd best get to sleep, 'Ponine," he said finally, as Eponine attempted to dislocate her jaw with a big yawn. She nodded, and slipped her hand into his as they walked to the bedroom. He kissed her goodnight as they slipped into bed, falling asleep just the same as they had on their wedding night.

**Thanks again for all the reviews! I'm so glad you liked the story!**

**M.**


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